The Benevolent Hellion
by Slone13
Summary: Kingsmen High School was a commonplace for drugs and disorderly conduct. It wasn't uncommon for students to turn on the staff or each other. Two of Kingsmen's notorious dealers are anonymously invited to the King's party. Drugs. Sex. Money. Pyrotechnics. Boom! Soon, they're forced to leave behind their uncouth morals and crude friends for the good of others and for themselves.
1. 01

Eddie read and re-read her second-quarter schedule when Polanski hurled himself into the desk behind her.

Besides the police officer seated in the back corner, they were the only two students who'd arrived early to Classical Mythology. Eddie had arrived very early; too early for her liking, but most of the after-school extracurriculars called for an early attendance. She would have rather showed up half an hour before class started than have points docked for arriving five minutes late.

Eddie twisted herself to look back at Polanski. His head rested on his arms, his body hunched forward, his eyes closed. He looked as if he'd been asleep for days.

"Wanna hang after class?" she asked. "Heard RC's havin' a party."

With his head still down, Polanski knocked twice. It was their personal code for _yes_.

"In-N-Out after?"

Two knocks.

"Can I copy your homework?"

Polanski slammed his hand sown on the desk and sat up. He stretched his arms above his head and sighed heavily through his nose. The police officer sent him a pensive look.

One knock was their personal code for _no_.

"How 'bout you do your own damn work and leave me be." It wasn't a question. Polanski was tired of being Eddie's go-to when it came to her repetitive procrastination. It wasn't hard to Google the cross-cultural influences between Mesopotamian myth and Hesiod's _Theogony_ or the theory behind the "Great Goddess."

Eddie blew out a sigh with indignation and turned back around. She scrubbed the back of her shaved head and read her schedule again. With this year being her last and having flunked most of her classes last quarter (last school-year, inevitably), Eddie's schedule bristled with classes she'd already taken and a number of study sessions. Senior year was going to conspire to destroy her.

Eddie could feel Polanski messing with her gauges, flicking the back part that dangled, while she squinted at the board to read the day's class agenda. Without her glasses, the teacher's furious handwriting looked like jaunty scribbles, barely readable.

"What are we doing today?" she asked him.

Polanski hummed and moved on to rub the back of Eddie's head, brushing his calloused fingers over the prickly hairs. "We have a speaker. Some guy named Doctor Ian Jenkins. Senior Curator." He cupped his hands around her ears and blew on the back of her neck. The police officer cleared her throat and Polanski reared back. Public displays of affection were against school rules.

Eddie narrowed her eyes at the white board. She could just make out the name _Jenkins_.

The school bell rang. Polanski kicked the holding basket beneath Eddie's desk. Eddie twisted around and slapped the back of his hand. The police officer started to stand, but thought against it when students began come in. Desk legs scrapped the floor, backpacks and messenger bags were carelessly dropped, notebooks and binders slapped worktops. It all gave Eddie a sort of forgone nostalgia that made her nerves splinter and her chest ache.

For the next few to many minutes of class, students chattered with each other about what they'd done over winter break. Eddie tried to eavesdrop, but someone cuffed the back of her head. She muttered a string of curses and looked up.

Looming above her was Tabitha Limner, nicknamed Pinhead, not for her stupidity, but for the plethora of piercings she had on her face.

"Hey," she said. "You goin' to RC's party tonight?"

Eddie rested her feet on the holding basket beneath the desk in front of her. "Maybe," she said.

"Definitely. We'll be there." Polanski leaned forward, his breath warm against Eddie's ear. He gave Tabitha a wicked grin. Tabitha returned that grin with a wicked one of her own. She patted Eddie's shoulder and moved on, making quick stops to chitchat with a few classmates.

The students kept coming in. Polanski kept screwing with Eddie's gauges. Conversations kept going on. The late bell rung, but still, the teacher never showed. Dr. Ian Jenkins wasn't the teacher instructed to teach the class. Mrs. Henderson was. She was this tall, tan-skinned, wide-eyed woman who had a history of living in a handful places around the world. She was fluent in four languages and had a thing for dates and insignificant events that may or may not have actually happened.

When things started to get loud and chaotic, the police officer stood and cupped her hands around her mouth. She shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen! Please, have a seat. The professor will be here momentarily."

Just as she said _momentarily_ , a very old and very fat man stepped into the classroom. As he made his way to the front, every student watched him. He was this hunched, wrinkled thing. The veins on the back of his hands were blue and bulging, the fat under his chin doubled. The messenger bag he had swelled with filed papers and worn book edges.

As he passed through the first aisle, Eddie thought he smelt of musk and something of jasmine and vanilla when he brushed past her. It was a nicer version of that unexplainable old people smell.

This old professor swept his bag off his shoulder and dropped it onto Mrs. Henderson's desk.

"My name," he said, turning to face the class, "is Ian Dennis Jenkins. Mister or Doctor Jenkins is fine." His voice was heavily accented. Eddie couldn't tell whether it was Cockney or Estuary English, but Dr. Jenkins sounded a lot like the celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay.

Dr. Jenkins continued to talk. He talked about himself — his time as Senior Curator, his expertise on Ancient Greece, his specialization in Ancient Greek sculpture. He talked about the number of books and the hundred of articles he'd published. He talked about how he lead excavations at the British Museum and that he'd been involved in the debate over the ownership of the Elgin Marbles.

Because _everyone_ knew what Elgin Marbles was.

Eddie flipped up her hood up and buried her head in her arms. Someone's earbuds blasted music on the other side of the room. Someone kept kicking the wall near the back. No one was listening to what Dr. Jenkins had to say about himself, so the police officer had to make some kind of motivational speech about listening and the such.

Instead of explaining what Elgin Marbles was, Dr. Jenkins thanked the police officer and announced that he would be putting on a movie. At that, the class turned their tides. Everyone seemed all too eager to have Dr. Jenkins shut up.

The "movie" was a forty-two-minute-long YouTube video of Young Dr. Jenkins talking about the Greek gods; how they were like, their attributions to Western civilization, and how the Romans essentially borrowed their gods to form their own (give or take a few). The current and old Dr. Jenkins sat at Mrs. Henderson's desk. He was either taking attendance or checking whether the class was paying attention to his younger self explain Zeus's frivolous prostituting.

Polanski fell asleep halfway through, but Eddie watched it until the end.

The hour-and-twenty-minute after-school period went by faster than Eddie thought. Since there was no bell scheduled to go off at 5:10 p.m. and since Dr. Jenkins was the class substitute teacher, the police officer was the one who dismissed the students. They all filed out through the door, chatty and ignorant. The police officer wished Dr. Jenkins to have a good day and left. Dr. Jenkins mumbled something incoherent in reply.

Eddie stayed behind, so Polanski did too. As he leaned against the wall by the door, Eddie consulted the professor about the chthonic deities. They small-talked for a while, never staying on one subject for very long before one of them changed it with a renewal of thought. It went on like that for most of their conversation.

Dr. Jenkins gave Eddie his business card and bid her a farewell.

Eddie, keeper of her jejune reputation at Kingsmen High, did not thank the professor. Instead, she crumpled the card he gave her, shoved it in her back pocket, and turned her back on him to meet Polanski by the door. Together they left without another word.

"So..." Polanski bumped shoulders with Eddie as they made their way toward the pickup circle at the front of the school. "The fuck was that about?"

Eddie looked offended and let out an exasperated laugh, a single ha?. "What? The doctor?"

"Yes, the fuckin' _doctor_." He emphasized the word doctor like it was an insult.

"Come on, don't be a shit-head." Polanski shrugged, like he couldn't help it. "But, no. We were just talkin' about Hecate."

"Hay-who?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hek-ate. Hek-uh-tee? Hek-it?" Eddie brushed her ear against her shoulder. "Well, somethin' like that. Basically, she's the goddess of magic and crossroads and necromancy and stuff."

"Magic," Polanski said. He said it like a huff, like a huh. "Like the crazy shit your mom does when she ain't huffin' paint in her studio?"

Eddie faked a laugh. "First off, she's my _step_ -mom. And she doesn't huff paint fumes, she smokes white sage. It helps with her headaches and —" she made circular gestures with her hand by her ear — "sinus infection. Second, it's not _magic_ , it's witchcraft. There's a difference."

Polanski snorted and said, sarcastically, "Right, because that's so much better."

"I"m serious!" Eddie smacked his arm with the back of her hand. "I told him about the whole psychic business. Oh, don't give me that look, Polanski. Prediction-trading is popping up a lot more than you'd think. Anyway, he told me that Hecate was the Crone Goddess of Wicca and the third phase of the Moon Goddess."

Polanski looked like he wasn't sure what he was supposed do, so he scrunched up his nose and gave a passive shrug.

"And then he told me that I was lucky. Said that all her children were psychic-bound." Polanski gave her that look, so Eddie elaborated. " _Her_ as in Hecate."

"He called you that wench's daughter?"

Eddie, for a moment, was shocked at the ferocity in Polanski's voice. She expected him to have at least a little remorse, especially when she knew that he didn't even know who Hecate was. She didn't understand why he seemed so mad at some fairytale god(dess)head he knew nothing about.

"Technically," she said, "a daughter of Hecate refers to female psychics. Since Amery _did_ teach me a few things, I suppose I can be considered a daughter of Hecate. Plus the whole Wicca thing, too."

Polanski rolled his eyes. "Great."

"Oh, hey!" She smacked him again. "Don't be sarcastic. Being a daughter of Hecate also means I'm a demigod. So, _ha_!"

Eddie laughed because it was rediculous. Polanski said nothing, but his face said everything. Or, really, it said everything and nothing at the same time. Eddie wasn't sure what to make of it, so she smacked him again and got him to _ooff_.

"Come on," he said finally, and slithered an arm around Eddie's waist, pulling her to him. "In-N-Out's still open if you're hungry."

Eddie put her arm around his waist and looked up at him, bemused. "First RC's and then In-N-Out. I thought that was the plan."

He untangled himself from her and trotted ahead, then turned around and opened up his arms. "Fuck RC!" This he hollered to her. "That guy can go fuck himself!" This he hollered to the heavens.

"I bet he would." Eddie jogged to catch up with Polanski, who brought up a hand to rub the back of her head. "So, what? We ain't goin' now?"

Polanski bit the nail edge of his thumb, tearing the little bit of skin off. He shook his head. "Nah, nah. I told Pinhead we were comin.' Might as well go."

"See!" She smacked him in the stomach. The hand that was on her head dropped to cover the sore spot. "Who else is coming? Alice? Pom? Exo? Newman? _Jester_?"

"Jester!" Eddie couldn't tell if Polanski was horrified or delighted. He flicked her ear. "We'll get ready before we go. I'll call up Marsh to get us a ride."

"Where is it anyway?" she asked.

He gave her his wicked grin. "You'll see when you get there."


	2. 02

"Tell me again where this godforsaken place is?" Polanski asked, his voice rough and straightforward. He pressed his cellphone to his ear with one shoulder as he attempted to tighten and double-knot the laces of his boots.

On the other end, Marsh Sŏjun didn't immediately reply. It was possible he was irritated about the question, having had been asked for the fifth time that hour.

"Hey, fuck-face," he snapped. "You there?"

Marsh sighed. "Show a little respect, huh? It ain't everyday a shit-stain like you gets invited to one of these."

From the next room over, Polanski heard a crash. It was followed by Eddie's exasperated shout of, "Fuck!" and a tremendous thud of something hard hitting the wall. Polanski turned his back and pretended he didn't hear anything.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he replied crossly. With a little less malice, he said, "Nothing. So, map point."

"Map point," Marsh repeated, his voice tired-sounding. "By Devil's Core out near Suicide Meadow. You're gonna buy your ticket there, then I'll have one of my boys tell you where to go from there."

"One of your boys?" Polanski made a displeasing sound in the back of his throat. "This ain't the movies. Just drive us _to_ the party. Where it actually is."

"That isn't how it works."

"Bullshit!"

"Look," Marsh said, "I'll take you to Devil's Core, then the shuttle point, okay? Personally. But when you're there, you're on your own."

Polanski bounced his leg, involuntarily anxious, and he didn't know why. "This better be fucking worth it. RC gonna be there?"

"Do leaves grow on trees? Of course he's gonna fucking be there. He's the one _throwing_ it. Why would you even —" Marsh stopped abruptly and Polanski, for a moment, thought he'd lost connection. But no, he could still hear the static. And then Marsh was laughing, saying, "You fucking _idiot_."

The thing was, Polanski knew exactly what he meant. He knew the reason why he was laughing and why he'd called him an idiot. He was one, in the inevitability that he kind of, very much, owed RC. More than owed him, really. And showing up at his party without anything to offer him probably wasn't the brightest thing he had going for him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. "That all?"

Marsh gave a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, yeah, baby."

Polanski hung up, and when he did, Eddie came into the room. She was dressed in a large and baggy hoodie that doubled as some sort of dress. Her eyes were furiously underlined with an intense shade of pink. Her lips were painted black. She clamped a hand around her index and middle finger.

"Look at you," he said. "All gothic and shit. That'll really sell. What happened?"

Eddie pursed her lips. "I'm not trying to sell anything," she said crossly. Her eyes were heedful under all the eye-makeup she wore. "Did you talk to Marsh? Oh, I just busted 'em. Did he say anything? Do you know where we're going?"

"Devil's Core," Polanski replied. Eddie arched her brows. "I know. Marsh's picking us up an' taking us, then… yeah."

"Yeah?" she repeated.

"It's classified."

"Asshole."

He gave her a contemptuous smile, all teeth and wounding ambition, and grabbed his wallet from the dresser. He opened it and took something out. The something in question was a small ziplock baggie. Inside were five very small, very green annular tablets. Eddie's cheeks grew hot. She snatched it from his hand and gave Polanski a tired and unforgiving look.

"What is this?" she demanded. "Molly? Ecstasy?" Despite the fierce look in her eye, the laugh in her voice betrayed her. It bristled with contempt and lacked any humor whatsoever.

Polanski tilted his head. "They're the same thing," he said. "Technically. It's for the party."

"Is it a substance party?" she asked.

"No idea." He plucked the baggie out of her hand and slipped it back into his wallet. "Guess we'll find out."

Eddie blew out a breath, but didn't comment. She scratched by her ear and saw that some foundation had rubbed off under her fingernail. She made a mental note to try not to care about that. Polanski stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. He popped his neck and proceeded to crack his knuckles. The whole action was contagious — Eddie popped and cracked her own neck and knuckles in return.

"Come on," she said, and hit Polanski's arm with the back of her hand.

Eddie and Polanski found themselves at the front door, but before they could walk through the threshold, a woman's wispy voice called after them. Well, the voice called after one of them.

"I would hope you aren't going to leave this late at night," Eddie's step-mother, Amery, said. Her voice was pitched with motherly disapproval. Eddie found it endearingly annoying.

Amery emerged from the kitchen. She wore a loose-fitting dress with a floral-patterned apron tied around her waist. Her thick, frizzy hair was twisted back in a lazy bun. She was barefooted, an incense-holder in one hand and the other poised on her hip.

Eddie mentally cursed. She hadn't thought of her step-mother being up this late, and she especially hadn't assume she'd be up burning frankincense and sandalwood. The two scents combined made Eddie's sinuses itch.

Polanski raised a hand. "Hello, Misses Rhys."

"Hello, David," Amery replied candidly. Her eyes were trained on Eddie. "Care to explain to me what you intend to do at —" there was a clock on the wall opposite of the hall she stood in "— ten-forty-seven at night?"

Eddie shrugged carelessly. "Go out."

Amery closed her eyes and sighed out through her nose. "The parenting guide said something like this would happen. I cannot let that happen, Edwina. You say good-bye to David and then you go straight to bed. And get that… that _stuff_ off your face."

Eddie, impervious to her step-mother's pitiful discipline, began with, "No," and ended with her pushing Polanski outside and slamming the front door closed. She hadn't meant to slam it, but that was what had ensued. Eddie waited, counting the beats of her heart. She heard a mechanical click and realized that Amery had locked the door.

Polanski said, "Cunt."

Eddie was certain that this word was addressed toward her step-mother for locking them out of the house than toward her for being an asshole toward her. So she found it okay to agree. They descended the stairs to wait for Marsh in front of the main office. Not soon after they were outside, a very expensive-looking car rolled up in the tenant parking lot and parked along the curb in front of Polanski and Eddie with the passenger's side facing them.

The passenger's side window slid down. Behind the wheel was Marsh Sŏjun, his face skeletal and unknown from the LED lights that illuminated the interior of his car a mid-summer blue. He leaned toward the open window.

"Get in," he hollered.

Polanski and Eddie got in. Polanski climbed into the passenger seat, while Eddie clambered her way into the back behind the driver's seat, which was cluttered with a half-dozen Pizza Palace receipts. A half-zipped CD binder had discs slipping out of it. The inside of the car smelled of cologne and peppermint and looked even more expensive than it did on the outside. Eddie wrinkled her nose at the potent smell and pushed the spilt CDs and crinkled receipts aside. She did not comment.

Marsh put the car in gear. The apartment shrunk in the rearview mirror.

Eddie broke the silence. "Where're we going?"

Polanski and Marsh, at the same time, said, "Hell."

"Devil's Core," she said. "Har. Har. But can't you just drive us to the party?"

In a mocking tone, Polanski said, "That isn't how it works."

"I already told you." Marsh made a turn onto the highway. "These things are hard to come by. If you've got the right connections, you're pretty much set. Which makes you two very lucky."

"Huh," was all Eddie said before leaning back and staring out of the window.

Marsh and Polanski conversed about RC-related business, mainly pertaining to Polanski's borrowed dept. Marsh told him he was an idiot for coming to the party. Eddie vocally agreed. Some post-punk krautrock track played on the radio. The singer's voice was deep and sonorous, the guitar jagged, the bass dub-influenced. Outside, the urban city diminished gradually to the rustic estate of nothingness. When the song dissolved to quiet, Marsh completely shut off the radio and used his power as driver to lower all the windows. The wind roared in their ears.

Eddie had fallen asleep in the back, so Polanski noticed it first.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Marsh waved his hand. "Hold on."

"You said that was the way it worked."

"Y'all wanna get to the party?" Marsh looked over at Polanski. "Then you're gonna get to the party. But you guys'll have to pay extra for detouring."

Polanski gave him the universal gesture for _fuck you_. "I thought the whole reason for that labyrinth shit was to make sure the cops didn't find it. Didn't RC, like, buy out the cops or something?"

"Something like that," Marsh agreed. "Daddy's money."

"So what's the deal with all this, if the cops aren't gonna get involved?"

"It's the adventure, man. It's the —"

"Dude!"

But it was then, within that split second of a moment, did something flash in front of the car. It was large and whole and unmoving.

Marsh hauled on the wheel and dropped down a few gears. The rubber on the wheels protested. The centripetal force of the turn caused all bodies to sway right as Marsh turned onto an overgrown drive. Polanski hit the side of his head on the frame above the window. Eddie woke up a second too late and found herself falling to the side as her head thudded on the opposite seat.

"Whoa —!" Eddie perched herself on an elbow and pawed for the driver's headrest to keep her from teetering further. Polanski gripped the handle above his head, expressing his surprise with black poetry: cursing every known swear word known to man.

The car trekked on an uneven path, all dirt and vegetation. Marsh slammed on the brakes when barren trees began to emerge from the darkness and into the way of the car's headlights. But he had too much speed and too little control over the steering. Luxury cars were not built for off-road travel, and so it staggered side to side as it hurtled on.

Eddie slapped a hand on Marsh's shoulder to try and steady herself in the backseat. It had been a shame none of them wore their seatbelt.

Lights flashed on the dashboard. Little alarms went off. But there was nothing gentle about a rich boy's very expensive car crashing nose-first into the trunk of a tree. Metal cranked. Glass shrieked. Airbags were blown up. Bodies were flung.

And then the car went silent. Dead.

The passengers, on the other hand, were very much alive.

"Oh… oh, God." Marsh reached over and shoved Polanski's shoulder. "Did you…? Hey, you 'kay? Hurt?"

Polanski was not physically hurt. He was, however, frozen from the impact. His ears rung. His mouth was clenched shut. He gave a shaky thumbs-up as his response.

"Eddie?" Marsh called out. Polanski glanced back.

Eddie had butted heads with the driver's headrest and pressed a hand to her forehead. Her lipstick was smeared, a black streak running across her cheek. She had some on her nose, too.

"Fine," she said tersely.

In a silent movement, all three of them got out of the car. Polanski and Eddie came to stand beside Marsh on the driver's side, staring at the damage. The front bender was torqued and hugged the trunk of the tree. One of the front wheels was crooked in a way that wheels were not meant to be. The smell of the disaster stunk of burning rubber and gasoline.

The cicadas around them cried out.

"Well, that's fucked," Polanski said approvingly.

Marsh cupped his hands behind is head. Everything about the night screamed at him, blaming him. "He's going to kill me. You've gotta be — god _damn_ it!"

"This isn't _yours_?" Eddie's voice was sharp in the dark.

"No! Not really. Not entirely." He paced back and forth, his hands behind his head, eyes darting back down the way they'd came, trying to see if he could spot the road they'd just been on. But everything was dark, inky black, and seemingly impossible to look through.

"Daddy's money," Polanski said, all scorn and little remorse.

"You know what?" Marsh seized the collar of Polanski's shirt and pushed him back. "This isn't fucking funny, okay? Fuck you."

"You guys are such drama queens," Eddie chided in. "Are we close to the party at all?"

Polanski looked at her. "You're being _very_ unhelpful." Then he turned to look at Marsh. "Look, you're having a life-changing experience here, man. It ain't the end of the world."

"Marsh?"

Heads turned. A bright light was shown on them. When it came closer, a tall figure came forward with it. Eddie felt an overawed sheen of intimidation, being surrounded by giants, so she made herself as big as they were in presence. She did not know who this stranger, this young man, was, and glowered at him because she envied his height and because she could. He did not look back at her. Instead, he stared ahead of himself, his eyes dark and unfocused.

It was then that voices could be heard. Polanski slapped Eddie on her arm, directing her attention further up the overgrown drive. Nestled along a clearing of trees, a dilapidated church stood, its tallest tower disappearing into the night above. False-colored lights flashed from the rear of the church. There was a flurry of vehicles parked with the dead by the graveyard left of the place: sleek-black sedans, commercial-brown SUVs, silvery two-seaters that were too small to even be considered cars. People came forth, their forms human-like silhouettes against flashes of light.

Polanski slipped an arm around Marsh's shoulders and pulled him to his side, mouth to ear. He said something only they could heard. Marsh screwed his mouth. He was not pleased, but allowed himself to be pulled by Polanski.

"We'll get you guys a drink," the stranger boy said. He turned off the flashlight he'd brought with him, so only the lights and the noise drew them to their location.

Eddie came to Polanski's side and wormed herself under his other arm. Despite the hoodie-dress she wore, she shivered against the cold the night seemed to offer. A hound barked in the distance. Insects buzzed around them. A drink sounded good.

Polanski broke away from Eddie and Marsh, snaking between the cars. "Lucky thing we didn't have to go through all that parking bullshit."

"Lucky thing," Marsh said tragically.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I would like to thank the following for submitting their characters: NSing, Banbooozled, Fool Arcana Kaiju, W. R. Winters, Psyman21, and cityscapetowers. Your characters will not go to waste, I can promise you that.**


	3. 03

The first thing Eddie saw when she stepped through the threshold of the dimly-lit church were two girls shotgun kissing. They were leaned up against each other, against the wall by the main entrance, their lips a work of delicate art as they blew smoke into each other's mouths. It was when one of the girls caught Eddie's eye did she realize she'd gazed at them for a minute too long. Her face felt hot. The other girl looked over at her and mouthed _piss off_. Eddie turned away.

Besides the two girls, there were others who aimlessly wandered around within the nave of the church, most of whom mingled within the outer wings of the transept. They lingered in the shadows, smoking and drinking and talking and touching. They were these untamed creatures on the other side of society's eye of beauty, their forms distorted and dark and dangerous.

Eddie felt something anxious boil in her chest. Polanski's eyes wandered, curious, as he dipped his fingers into the stoup of holy water and touched his forehead. She knew that he felt the same way as she did.

Stranger Boy — the guy who'd came out with his flashlight and whose name was never given — and Marsh led Polanski and Eddie down the center aisle toward the little space at the front of the church that surrounded the choir and sanctuary, where the clergy and choir folk would sit during mass. Just right of the chancel was a raised pulpit with a large sounding board above it and a tattered cloth antependium hanging over its front edge. There was a trio of boys in it, who drank from red plastic cups and engaged themselves in the kind of laughter that came with the quiddity of the place: dark and deep and filthy.

People looked, stared, peered at them as they passed. Eddie felt naked against the eyes that watched, so she kept close to Polanski's side. But she, herself, kept watch, too. Eddie did not go to parties often; she was usually too busy trying not to fail her senior year. Polanski, on the other hand, went to parties all the time and still found the time to make up his assignments.

The chancel they walked into was the most least amusing part of the entirety of the church. It was barren, with only a shabby wooden alter at its heart and moth-eaten draperies that hung from its high ceiling. There was a dull-sounding beat of fast-pacing music, the bass pulsing up through the flooring. At the base of the alter was an open and door-less undercroft, a set of stone steps that leading down to the pollution of lights and music and the sickness of the night-life.

The group descended. When the stairs ended, there were two bouncers standing on either side of a closed door, a man and a woman, looking considerably threatening with their dark clothing and solemn expressions. Down there, the music became clearer and louder and harsher. It shook the nerves and hammered the ears.

Stranger Boy stepped forward first and extended his right arm, palm up. There was nothing on his wrist, but when the man flashed a small blacklight flashlight he had on him, something purple appeared. He allowed him to pass through. Beyond the door, there was another set of stairs.

Marsh came up behind Polanski and Eddie and slapped a hand on their shoulders. "Welp," he said, "this is it. Pay up." He pushed them forward.

Polanski, a little hesitant at first, produced his wallet from his back pocket and handed the man four one hundred dollar bills — two hundred for him and an additional two hundred for Eddie.

The woman held out her hand and told them, "No one enters unless you've brought a substance."

So, it _was_ a substance party.

Eddie plucked Polanski's wallet from his hand. She took out the little baggie of Molly, but rather than hand it to the woman, she reached into her hoodie-dress through the top collar and pulled out a little baggie of her own. She handed them both to the woman, who accepted them without so much as a thank you.

The mark came next. It was quick to be given, a flick of the hand and something was drawn on the wrist. It wasn't, however, visible. Invisible ink, Eddie guessed, or UV-visible ink. It could have been either.

The bouncers allowed Polanski and Eddie to pass through.

"Actually," March called after them, "I'm going to stay upstairs. Cute girl. You know."

Polanski waved a hand, urging him to go. "Oh, yeah, dude. We got this. Go get some."

Eddie elbowed him in the side as the man closed the door.

Polanski shouted, "Hey!" but his voice drowned in the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. All around, it was rambunctious, though the symphony was constructed of so many instruments that it was hard to identify and individual timbres. People cheered and yelled and whoop-whooped. Sounds clashed and they did not flatter each other, but it was such that it sounded whole, as one, in a way that made the heart stop and skip and beat; it made the nerves crack and splinter; it made the mind go numb and stupid.

Without the proper aspect of white light, everything was brazen and disconsolated and hazy below. But everything was also too close, too hyper-focused. It was the movement of limbs against limbs, bodies against bodies, skin against skin. Everyone looked naked and dark within the blues and magentas and purples of the lights that swept the undercroft. Mouths were open, lips moving. Everything moved in an unexplainable way; the all that made up the one and the one that broke down to the all. It was diabolically beautiful.

Something caught in Eddie's throat. What she felt was considerably different from what she felt upstairs. Here, her chest swelled with disquieted adrenaline. Here, her senses were hyped; too bright, too dark, too loud, too quiet.

Polanski nudged her arm. He pressed his lips to her ear so she could hear him over the raving. "Hey, I'll be right back."

Eddie's chest tightened. She hissed, "What?"

Something in Polanski's eyes said that he really didn't want to have this conversation. "Don't say anything stupid," he told her. "I'll get you something to drink, 'right?"

And then he left, disappearing within the vast sea of the chaotic and jabbering partygoers. She watched him leave until she couldn't see him through the thicket of people any longer.

Someone pushed past her, brushing a shoulder by her ear. Eddie stepped aside, bumped into someone, took a step back, bumped into someone else. She decided that apologizing wasted too much of her time and took off in the direction Polanski had gone, but because she'd received the shorter straw of her family's genetic selection (no pun intended), she hadn't gotten a good look at where he'd gone.

When Eddie turned around to head back to the stairs and wait for Polanski, she walked right into someone. They caught her shoulders and an arm was slung over her neck.

"Hey, lady." The voice was glossy with drugs. It did not sound familiar, and Eddie was afraid they were trying to hit on her. As flattering as the thought might have been, this was the last place she wanted to be courted.

And then Eddie looked at them.

"Oh," she said.

"Oh," RC mimicked, good-natured, as if Eddie's introspectiveness charmed him. He jostled her shoulder and asked, "You seen Polanski? That ginger-beard bastard owes me big for the shit he took from me."

 _Don't say anything stupid._

"I don't know where he is." This was the truth in the fact that she'd lost his whereabouts after he'd left her by the stairs. This was a lie in the fact that, because this was a party organized by him, RC, without a doubt, knew where the drinks were, which was where Polanski probably was right about now.

RC hummed, which Eddie simultaneously thought was a good and bad thing. "I would have thought," he started to say, "that because he's with you all the time, you'd know where he'd be."

Eddie shrugged as best she could. "He went off when we got here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…?"

RC lowered his head, so that their eyes aligned. When he spoke, his breathe was hot with the stench of alcohol. "You sure?" His grip on her shoulder was tight, knuckle-white. He was a terrible predator and she was a vulnerable prey.

Eddie set her horns at this snake's jugular. "You can try Pom. Bet they're reminiscing 'bout the good ol' days."

RC twisted his thin lips up in an uncertain sort of way, like he didn't quite believe her, but had no choice to. So he patted her on the back. Two hard, solid claps. "Well, a'right. If you do see him, tell him to give a shout at the DJ, will ya?" Something small and hard was pressed into the palm of her hand.

"Sure," she said, her eyes trained on his.

"What a pup." He slapped a hand on the back of her shaved head and rubbed it. "Well, I'm out. Things to do 'n' shit. See to it that it don't go to waste!" The last part he had to nearly yell as he backtracked to wherever the hell he'd came from.

When he was gone, Eddie opened her palm and looked down. It was a little pink tablet, no bigger than a dime. A pill. He'd given her a damn pill.

"Do it…" Hands clamped down on her shoulders. "Take it."

She whirled around and nearly elbowed Polanski in the stomach. He caught her arm before she could cause any bodily harm.

"Christ, Rhys!" he exclaimed, which sounded more of a whisper than anything. "It's just me."

"You!" Eddie pointed her finger at him and pressed it to his chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?"

"RC! He just came over and told me you owed him? What are you doing borrowing _anything_ from him? Do you _want_ a death wish?"

Polanski held up his hands in a sort of mock surrender. "Okay! Tell me I fucked up so I can get on with my life."

"You. Fucked. Up."

"Wonderful."

The party swooned around them. It all seemed far too exhilarated. People kept pushing and shoving past, never excusing themselves or apologizing. People drank and smoked, yelled and hollered, cried and laughed. Eddie felt a little overwhelmed. She pawed at Polanski's shirt.

"Did you get the drinks?" she asked.

He didn't immediately reply. "The drinks — oh…"

Eddie gave him a withering look.

"I didn't think —" Polanski scratched at the back of his upper arm. "It was only an excuse to get away from RC."

"Treason," she said. Then, without pause, "I'm hungry."

"Good for you," was his reply.

And then they were pushing their way through the crowds, Eddie hanging on to the back of his shirt. Polanski saw where he'd gone before: a set of several plastic banquet tables lined just in front of a bank of stereos that were stacked on top of one another to the ceiling. An accumulation of bottles hoarded the tables, along with haphazardly stacked red plastic cups. There were large glass bowls of colorful things that a number of partygoers took to taking out and shoving in their mouths. All Eddie saw were torsos; naked, tattooed, scarred, concaved, and breasted. Sweat glistened off of bodies as they moved, clashing with the incensed music that played all round them.

And then, yes, she saw it. She also realized that the glass bowls of colorful things were pills. Eddie was aware that this was a thing: once upon a time, a group of teenagers would invite you to a house party and expect you to bring a little something extra — anything you could have been able to grab from Mommy and Daddy's medicine cabinet. After everyone had arrived, all of the pilfered pills were put in a bowl, mixed up, and then taken by the fistful by those who were willing to risk their own health in the hop of getting a buzz. Eddie and Polanski had gone to one of those kinds of parties before, but the problem with them wasn't so much the types of pills that were being taken than it was the uncertain dosages and reckless mixing.

"Polanski, my man!"

Behind one of the tables, a partygoer raised his arm and waved them over. Polanski recognized him and remembered him as the guy who'd given himself a month-long coma by taking too many painkillers coupled with tranquilizers: Pom. He was this delicate creature of high cheekbones and porcelain skin, a real K-pop idol look-alike. His hair was black and styled up and, like Eddie, his eyes were underlined with a vibrant pink. Glitter was his undying friend.

Pom glanced down. "And... you?"

Eddie extended her hand. "Eddie," she told him. They bumped knuckles over the pills and alcohol.

Polanski and Pom did a complicated handshake and then smacked each other's backs.

"So," Pom said, "any of you care for a drink?"

They both agreed to have a drink, which really wasn't much. Pom placed two red cups in front of Polanski and Eddie and filled them halfway with tequila and the rest of the way with cranberry juice. He pushed the drinks toward them and said, " _Bon appétite_." Polanski had no problem downing at least half of his, but Eddie found it extremely difficult when it burnt her throat as much as it did, so she took to small sips and thanked Pom, who in return fancied a plié before filling new and empty drinks for others who came up to him.

Eddie turned her to head to look up at Polanski and two things struck her. One was when RC had confronted her about Polanski's whereabouts and she'd told him that he was likely with Pom. The other was now, when she saw RC's tall and lanky figure come up from behind Polanski. His appearance was so sudden, Eddie nearly forgot she'd spoken to him not ten minutes before.

RC's hand, large with knotted knuckles, clasped around Polanski's throat, another one clamping down on his shoulder, and slammed a fist fist into Polanski's nose. He stumbled back, clawing at the table and at the people around him to keep him upright and as steady as he could get. Polanski's hand found Eddie's shoulder, teetering her weight to his, but at least he did not fall to the grimy floor.

A bloody fist was shoved in Polanski's face. "What's up, princess?" RC stood, unbreakable, against the harsh lights that flickered throughout the undercroft.

Polanski wiped his nose on the collar of his shirt, leaving a red clotted mess. "Hey — what — you _fucking_ —"

RC then, without allowing Polanski to collect himself, took the opportunity to grab him by the collar of his shirt and hurl him onto the table. He used Polanski's body to sweep bottles and cups and a bowl of narcotics and things of the like from the table. The thump of his head against the edge was silent from the heavy-duty bass that shook the ground.

Someone yelled, "Not the fucking pills!"

Another began grabbing for the liquor bottles that hadn't already fallen and been presumably busted open.

Pom tried his best to man his station behind the table.

Eddie stumbled back. She hadn't noticed it before, but a clearing had encircled Polanski and RC. People cheered and prompted the two to _fuck each other up_ and _beat the shit out of each other_. No one dared to help. When one of them was knocked to the edge, someone would just clap their hands on their shoulders and push them back in. Punches were thrown about. Knees rammed into chests. Polanski's nose kept bleeding. RC's bottom lip was split.

"Where the fuck is it, man?" RC demanded. He spat a wad of bloody saliva onto the floor. "Your time's up. I'm sick of waitin' 'round for my shit."

Blood dripped from Polanski's chin. He yelled, "You'll get it when you fuckin' get it!"

This didn't sit too well with RC. As he lunged forward, his arm hooked back for another throw, Polanski came forward just the same.

Eddie set down her drink, having only drank half of it. If she didn't do something soon, someone would be unconscious, and she just didn't have the time or the money or the means to take someone to the ER tonight.

Eddie rushed forward and seized Polanski's arm in mid-swing, which made her a little proud of herself. Polanski, for all he was worth, was unbelievably strong. She, however, did not see RC's fist and received the worst of the punch. It was in such a way that Eddie found herself clutching Polanski's arm with white-tipped fingers, her hold on him rigid and unmoving. The left side of her mouth flared with a burning pain. Her lips felt wet, which she hoped was spit and not blood.

Polanski reared back, taking Eddie with him. RC held a complicated expression. His brows furrowed, but that was all. He looked upset and conflicted and confused and anxious all at the same time, but, really, he looked ready to go again. Eddie might as well not have been there. Polanski seemed over it, that the fight wasn't worth fighting anymore, not because he was a coward for not taking RC's advancements, but because he was tired. He was done. But RC, as impulsive and as reckless as he was, was not one to let things go so easily. He scrubbed at his bruised up face with his hand and started back toward Polanski and Eddie.

RC did not get far.

Someone in a dark hoodie stopped RC before he could come any closer. He put a hand on his bare chest and pushed him back. RC put his left foot behind him to stop himself from stumbling backwards. He clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles stained with Polanski's blood, and shifted his weight almost entirely on his right foot as he brought forth a quick and straight jab to the other guy's face.

This other guy, whoever he was, whoever he was trying to be, countered the blow. He pushed RC's hand away, so that his arm crossed over his chest, and then proceeded take him by the shoulders and used his forehead to slam RC across his nose. Something popped.

RC went down and did not get back up. A few people came forward to try to help and get him to his feet.

Fights were not uncommon at the sorts of parties RC held. Partygoers relished in them, but they always resented those who broke them up, and so the crowd began to get restless.

Polanski saw Pom wave his arm, the universal gesture for _get a move on_ or _get out of here_ , so he pushed Eddie through the mass of partygoers toward the stairs that led to only entry and exit of the place. They nearly made it to the door when Stranger Boy and the guy who'd head-butted RC in the face caught up with them, all out of breath, their skin glowing with perspiration. A fluorescent tube-light buzzed at the top of the stairs, which over-casted them in a sharp contrast. They were these tall figures, with broad shoulders and lean bodies.

"Wait." This was Stranger Boy. He had a pair of sunglasses hooked over the collar of his shirt. "David and Edwina, right?"

"Eddie," Eddie corrected him, "or Rhys."

Polanski dipped his head. "Polanski's fine," he said.

"Eddie… Polanski…" He snapped his fingers. "Gotcha."

Polanski narrowed his eyes. Eddie scratched at her temple. The two of them contemplated the inevitable, because they knew them, sure, unbelievably so. They knew them based on their immure nature to always be present in the most incipient of times — an off-seen laugh by an indirect witticism, a walk-by and a glance, a question and a reply. They were always there, somehow, and as such, they knew them in that roundabout way.

Polanski said, "And you guys…?"

Stranger Boy gave a chirped, "Oh!" and smacked the other guy's chest with the back of his hand. "Finnick. Call me Finn."

The other guy rolled his shoulders and shot Finn a pointed look. He said, "Jav."

Eddie stared at him, her eyebrows raised. "Jav? That's not your real name."

He gave a grim smile, skeletal under the harsh light. "Isn't it? I mean, isn't that what nicknames are for, _mágissa_? To derail from the shitty ones our parents gave to us at birth."

Her voice was heavy with mockery as she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Polanski flicked Eddie's ear.

Finn clasped his hands together. "Oh! Well! How about we get something to eat? There's a burger place by the, uhm… Devil's — Core?"

"Convenient," Polanski said. "We were gonna head to In-N-Out after the party."

"Great!" Finn exclaimed. He put a hand on Jav's shoulder. "My car's parked out on the street. You guys can ride with us." He took out a set of key fobs fixed with a carabiner, a USB flash drive, a keyless entry system, and a silver didrachm token.

Jav snatched them from his hand. "Right, well, _I'm_ driving."

Eddie pointed an accusing finger at him. "Why do _you_ have to drive? What are you trying to be? Some macho man, huh?"

"What," he sneered, "like you can drive? Your feet probably don't even reach the pedals."

Eddie seethed. Her face felt hot. The left side of her mouth throbbed from the sudden agitation. Polanski stepped in between the two of them. He looked to Finn. Finn clapped Jav on the back and pushed him toward the stairs.

"You just don't don't see the appeal of a blind person behind the wheel," he said, and then shrugged. "Which I don't understand. I only almost hit three people." He put out his arm toward Polanski and Eddie, as a way of pausing the situation. "Key word being _almost_."

Jav mumbled something under his breath.

"You're blind?" When Polanski said it, it came out more as an exaggerated demand than a genuine question.

Finn did not look at Polanski. He didn't turn around, but he tilted his head in a way that showed that he may or may not have been listening. "What? Are you serious? I can't believe no one ever told me before…" He made a dramatic sweep of his arm. "I had no _fucking_ idea!"

Jav chortled a laugh. Finn patted Jav on the shoulder and pushed a little toward the stairs. Eddie slapped Polanski on the arm and they exchanged a small, silent banter. The four of the ascended.

The bouncers could have cared less when they left; they were really only there for the money and the drugs, so there was little concern when the four of them climbed back up to the chancel of the church. It was there where they ran into Marsh, with a lot less running into and a lot more finding.

Marsh, for wherever he had gone, was slouched on the ground at the base of the alter by the undercroft. A red plastic cup was held slacken in his hand, partially empty because most of the alcohol that had been in it had spilled on the ground by his hip. He looked asleep, and he most likely was.

Polanski couched in front of him and smacked his face. He did not stir.

"I think he's dead," he said.

"Nah," Finn said. "His heart's still beating."

Eddie pursed her lips. "Any y'all have a marker? I wanna draw a dick on his forehead."

"No," Jav said. "It should be on his cheek. See?" He made a grotesque gesture with his hand by his mouth.

Finn said, "Jav," in a way that exuded as a warning. By way of reply, Jav rolled his dual-colored eyes and walked toward the front row of pews.

Polanski lifted up one of Marsh's eyelids, but all it showed was the whites of his sclera. He put a hand on the edge of the alter and used it to prop himself to stand up. He opened his mouth, his lips forming more of a sideways D than an O, and said, "Oh."

Eddie had caught Jav's eye without his prior knowledge. His eyes were not the same color — left: green, right: amber — but they were so light that she regarded them as fake and turned her attention to Polanski, then followed his gaze to the body of the church. In retrospect, it was empty. The trio of boys who'd been in the pulpit and the two girls who'd been shotgun kissing and anyone else who'd lurked under this godless roof was nowhere to be seen. There was, however a noise. More than a noise; shouting, screaming, cheering, crashing, crunching.

So, naturally, the four of them headed to the front of the church to execute the interest.

Nothing said, "I have more money than you," quite like this: Two cars loomed out of the darkness, one silver with neon paint splattered all over it and one black with a graphic design of a shark on the side of it, heading right toward each other. Neither one of them steered away. The destructive sound of them colliding head-on broiled. There was no other sound in the world like a car crash. Delighted screams filled the space between engine noises.

On the other side of the lot, adjacent from the cemetery and where Marsh's car had crashed, a tired Camaro SS was parked beneath a wrangled pine tree. It was lit from within, like an entrance to hell. It took a moment to register that it was on fire from within, or that it was working up to it. Rowdy boys stood around and on top the Camaro, drinking and smoking, their forms dysmorphic and dark against the smoldering filling.

Polanski pointed it out first. "Isn't that Marsh's car?"

Eddie narrowed her eyes. If it hadn't been for the fact that it was in the same physical shape as Marsh's luxury car, crunched into at the hood and hugged around the trunk of the tree, then she might have disagreed. But it wasn't, and was used as a prop for RC's party.

Far beyond the chaos that ensued, a lone white car was parked by the main road, just off from the worn path that led to the church. This was the supposed car Finn owned. When they came to it, a company name was printed in large blocky print on its side: Delphi Strawberry Service. Jav unlocked the car. They all took their respective seats: Jav as driver, Finn as passenger, and Polanski and Eddie in the back. This time, seat belts were buckled.

Jav revved the engine and backed out with a dramatic spin. Finn hollered approvingly. Eddie demanded music, and so Bizet's "Les Toreadors" was blasted on high. Polanski, his laugh high and manic, jostled her shoulder and pounded his fist against the ceiling of the car. He had a nasty bruise forming over the bridge of his nose. Eddie was sure she had one on her cheek, too, but that was the least of her concern at the moment.

They headed south, back towards town, towards civilization. With the anticipation of the night, their stomachs growled with hunger. It was just a few minutes past three when they arrived at their destination, the In-N-Out that was nestled between the only Starbucks in town and Gaia's Basket.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thank you, Number 2415 L.S, GiraffesGIRAFFES, and MonsterRiot ****for submitting your characters. They are so wonderful!**

 **I would also like to thank anyone and everyone who decided to read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. It means the world to me that so many people found interest in this.**


	4. 04

Eddie leaned against the wall outside of the guidance counselor's office. As she did, she did not think this life was hers. Reality began to tip once she began to question whether she would start to think of school as an important thing again. After a night of chest-pounding music and bloody fist fights and mind-altering euphoria, it was hard to imagine herself going to class the next morning. But here she was, dressed in her Sunday clothes, like last night had never happened.

But it had happened. She remembered it with vivid detail. Or, really, she remembered it from the pulsing ache she could still feel on the side of her mouth. From the left corner of Eddie's mouth, a bruise blossomed, red and swelling. She was simultaneously proud and ashamed of wearing it. It had been the main reason she'd received a pass to see her guidance counselor. But it was also possible because of the plethora of missing assignments for the majority of her classes and the fact that she may, or may not, be graduating.

Eddie peered across the lounge area at the clock, which was just one big muddle blur of white plastic and black numbers. Again, she'd forgotten her glasses. She blinked down at the ground by her feet and sniffed.

 _Tomorrow again_ , she thought. _And the next day._

But it felt like more of a dream than RC's party.

She touched her palm with the fingers of her other hand and thought about the two boys Polanski and her had met at the party last night. She thought about how familiar yet foreign they seemed to have been, like she knew them and didn't at the same time.

She became aware of someone's presence. It was that she assumed that they were there, and when she considered how it was that she happened to know, she realized she could see them slouching beside her in one of the four lounge chairs that lined the wall.

RC was this lanky giant, all sharp and coarse edges. Compared to the abandoned church last night, seeing him at school did not seem real. His domain was not Kingsmen High, but rather, what it was after dark. But seeing him now; his right cheek red and a little swollen, his bottom lip split and crusted raw, his already-crooked nose even more crooked; it made Eddie's stomach flutter with glee. He'd deserved everything he'd gotten.

Eddie pursed her lips, but because that brought out a prodding ache on her cheek, she instead pressed her thumb into the palm of her hand and kept her eyes trained on the floor. The chattering of the other student in the counselor's office and the receptionists distracted her enough to space out for how knows how many minutes before RC turned his attention toward hers.

"Hey," he said. His voice was crisp and hoarse compared to when he'd been under the influence. "I just wanted, you know — I didn't think it was gonna get messy like that. No, well…" He cocked his head. "Yeah, I did. But, you know…" He leaned forward. "You can't really get in the way of other people's businesses."

Eddie could feel her nerves aching. She wanted to hit or slap the living shit out of RC. Of course he wasn't going to apologize for hitting her. She should have thought better of him, or in this case, thought worse of him.

"What about the money people had to pay to get in?" she questioned him. "Two hundred. Each. That's four hundred."

RC shrugged, unapologetic. "I don't care 'bout the money. I've got a trust fund as big as the state lottery, baby. I don't need that grubby shit."

Eddie rubbed a finger at the side of her nose. She felt conflicted, but it was anger and irritation that won. Polanski and her had worked hard to earn that money. But if it hadn't been money Polanski had borrowed from RC, then she had a pretty straight idea as to what it might have been. She only wished he would have told her sooner or conversed to her about it before he went and got himself beaten up.

"You might want to keep your dog on a leash." RC stretched his legs out, how absurdly long they were. If he had been sitting where Eddie stood, the tops of his sneakers might have brushed against the edge of the front desk.

Eddie chewed at the inside of her bottom lip. "He's not my dog," she told him. "Don't talk to me."

"If you didn't want to talk," he started to say, "then you shouldn't have talked back, yeah?"

"Probably," she mumbled.

It was then that Tabitha Limner came out of the counselor's office. She caught Eddie's glance and shot her a double-gun gesture with her hands. Eddie grinned and winked back. Tabitha then high-fived RC as she stepped over his sprawled-out legs. She left the G-building in all her Pinheaded glory.

A woman appeared at the office door. "Mister Célestin, I'll speak with you shortly. And sit up properly. Please." RC complied, only to swing his body around and lay his legs over the seat of the chair beside his, his feet kicked up on the armrest. The woman exhaled sharply from her nose. "Miss Rhys? Come right in."

Eddie did as she was told.

She took a seat in front of a desk, but it was one of those working desks that someone might find in Ikea or Office Depot — sturdy-looking but, in actuality, was cheap and easily breakable. The lining on the edge was beginning to wear and strip. The desk, itself, was cluttered with mismatching personal knickknacks and a few school-themed items.

The counselor — Mrs. Lau'ese — was new to Kingsmen High, but not to the town. Eddie had been assigned to her at the beginning of the school year, nearly three months ago. She was a beautiful woman, with dark brown skin and high cheekbones. She covered her hair with a plain matt-teal tudung, a headscarf that she wore in accordance to the hijab.

Eddie waited and watched as she typed something on her computer. And after a moment, she sat back in her office chair. "It looks to me that you're doing just fine in a few of your classes," Mrs. Lau'ese told her. "An A-plus in art. A B-minus in algebra. And a B in your C.M. class. That's excellent work, Miss Rhys."

Eddie gave a bashful bow of her head. "Thanks," she said.

Mrs. Lau'ese raised an eyebrow and then turned her attention back to the computer. "However… I do see a lot of Ds. D-minus in P.E. D in English. D in Economics." She made a disapproving tut-tut and twisted herself in her chair to look Eddie in the eye. "This is your last year here. You're a _senior_ , Edwina. You should be doing better."

Eddie had the urge to correct Mrs. Lau'ese, but the thought against it when she heard her say that she should be doing better. In all accounts, she _should_ have been doing better, but after having gone through four schools in four different cities and having left behind most of her closest friends and having spent four months in a community shelter two years prior, three Ds, a couple of Bs, and an A were the most rewarding grades she could afford.

Eddie made a so-so gesture with her hand. "I know my grades aren't the best," she said, "but I was hoping that wouldn't be so much of a problem. A D is usually a passing grade."

Mrs. Lau'ese inclined her head to Eddie. "Well, yes. Usually. However…" She began typing again, clicking and nail-tapping on the top of her desk. Eddie was not a fan of the word _however_. "Here, let me show you, so you can see where I'm coming from."

She turned the monitor so that Eddie could see something that looked vaguely like a chain of graphs that were listed down in order of each semester quarter. At the top of the page was her previous school's name, along with her old I.D. number and information.

Mrs. Lau'ese directed Eddie's attention by pointing at the two graphs at the bottom. "What I don't understand, Miss Rhys, is that you insist on getting low grades, but your transcript from Lincoln show the opposite."

Eddie looked at her transcript and agreed. She'd managed to get straight As throughout the second semester, but it had mainly been due to the fact that the students didn't want to learn and the teachers were fed up with the students not wanting to listen to them, so the courses were easy enough.

She shrugged. "I guess my classes were easier?"

"Are they not easy for you here?" Mrs. Lau'ese asked, and turned the monitor back toward herself. "I understand that you hang around certain groups during the break hour and, assumably, after school. Could they be the reason?"

Two questions at once. Eddie thought about how she was supposed to answer them at the same time, but then thought against it. But Mrs. Lau'ese was correct, to a degree. Eddie spent more of her time with Polanski and their small gang of misfits than she did with her father and step-mother at home, and when she did spend time with them, she was either helping Amery with a curious customer or her father needed her to head down to Gaia's to get a pack of smokes and a twelve-case of Coke. Homework was passed between deals, chores, and sleep.

Eddie tilted her head, so her ear brushed her shoulder. "I'm not sure," she said. "I don't think they're the problem. I think it's just my procrastination and bad time management." This was also the truth.

Mrs. Lau'ese dipped her chin and gave Eddie a look that either read _What are you talking about?_ or _You just figured that out now?_ It was hard to tell. Eddie wasn't a big reader when it came to body language. It could have meant something else entirely. And then her gaze shifted down a little, from her eyes to somewhere by her left shoulder or wherever beyond, but Eddie was certain she'd seen her bruise.

Mrs. Lau'ese lifted her head. "What's that?" she asked, and vaguely gestured to her with a small twirl of her hand. And then she was leaning forward. She smelled of lavender and vinegar. "I'm going to be frank with you, my dear. I understand that there are a lot of fights that happen on campus. Were you in one recently?"

"No," Eddie answered immediately. "No… I was just — you see, there was this — there was a fight." Mrs. Lau'ese raised her eyebrows and sat back. "I went to a party last night with a few friends. There was a fight. I tried to intervene. I got hit instead." She gave a dismissive shrug.

Mrs. Lau'ese drummed her nails on the top of her desk. "A party on a school night? Do your parents know?"

"Oh, of course," she lied. She averted her gaze and looked up at the shelves that lined the wall above, with framed photographs and little novelty pieces neatly organized.

Mrs. Lau'ese continued to drum her nails, and then she leaned to the side a little and opened a drawer. What she produced was a manila envelope, paper-clipped closed, with something scrawled on the front in ink. She unclipped the opening and took out a few papers, to which she slid in front of Eddie.

"I want you to read me exactly what is on that top page," she told her. "Word for word. Go."

Eddie glanced down and then immediately looked up. "Are you serious?"

Mrs. Lau'ese nodded. "I am, indeed." She swept her hand in a gesture that meant _go on_.

Eddie looked down again and saw this:

 **τὸ πεπρωμένον φυγεῖν ἀδύνατον**

Her first thought was that it was not English. That was an obvious deduction. Her second thought was that it was Greek, but wasn't sure if it was the ancient dialect or the current one. She supposed it was current, seeing how Ancient Greek fell into disuse in western Europe in the Middle Ages. And then thought against it, sort of, when she realized the sentence could have been pulled out of any old text. Part of her realized that she recognized some of the letters as initials to fraternity and sorority names.

Eddie looked up at Mrs. Lau'ese. "I can't — read this?" She pushed the paper back. "What does it say?"

Mrs. Lau'ese cleared her throat, clearly dismayed. She looked down at the paper and translated: "'It is impossible to escape from what is destined.'"

For reasons unknown, the first thing Eddie thought of when her counselor recited the phrase was of the Moirai, the three sister deities who represented destiny and life. It had been something from a previous lesson in her Classical Mythology class, when the students were told to memorize the whole of the primordial deities.

Mrs. Lau'ese shuffled the papers she'd pulled out. Plucking one from the middle, she put her hand over it and smoothed it over to Eddie and told her to read it, just as she had with the previous one.

It was this:

 **de omni re scibili et quibusdam aliis**

"Italian," Eddie said right away. When there was no reply, she began listing off languages she thought looked similar to the text. "Spanish. Portuguese. French. Heh, _no_. I already said Italian, right? Uh… Roman—ian? Romanian."

Mrs. Lau'ese raised an eyebrow. Eddie was starting to wonder why she'd been called to the guidance counselor's office, besides discussing about her poor grades and social activities.

Eddie leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I don't know. I can't read it. I've already named the most common Latin languages —"

Mrs. Lau'ese settled into an expression that seemed to find fault with Eddie every second she stared.

Eddie mouthed _Ohhh…_ and looked down at the text again. "Latin… You wanted me to read _that_?"

Mrs. Lau'ese shrugged. "If you could, that is."

She slid the paper back over to her counselor. "Well, I _can't_. What makes you think that I could? I don't even _take_ Latin."

Before Mrs. Lau'ese could reply, there was a knock on her office door, despite it having been propped open. In the doorway stood Polanski. He had a nasty bruise above his right eye and was sporting a nose cast, a brash galaxy of red snaked out beneath his eyes. A darker one spread over his cheekbone. He was dressed for success in a pair of sweatpants and a University of Michigan hoodie, the drawstring double-knotted in a sloppy bow.

"Mister Polanski," Mrs. Lau'ese said. She turned her attention to Eddie. "Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Rhys. You've done beautifully. I'll see to it that you get back to your class." From a separate table behind her, she jotted down something on the back of an index card, her handwriting elegant but hurried. She handed it to Eddie and then gestured for Polanski to take a seat.

In passing, Polanski and Eddie eyed each other, but the silent conversation was undetermined and unknowable. Eddie walked out of Mrs. Lau'ese's office with a tight chest and a pass that felt as heavy as lead. RC was still sprawled where he'd been left, unbothered, his eyes clothed. It was an uncomfortable position he'd put himself in.

As she passed, RC kicked out a leg and pressed it to Eddie's knees, stopping her.

"Come on, man," she said with exaggerated distress. "I have to get to class."

He cracked an eye open and looked up at her. "You still got it?"

"Got _what_?"

"Oh, you know." He shut his eye. "The you-know-what."

Eddie furrowed her eyebrows. "You wanna be anymore suspicious?"

"Little. Pink. Cap." Each word he said was drawn out and emphasized slowly. He popped the p at _cap_.

She looked at him, and kept looking at him, because she finally understood what he was talking about and remembered that that _little pink cap_ was tucked away in one of the pockets in her backpack back in the girl's locker. She hadn't had time to put it away in her locker and she assumed she wouldn't be gone for very long, not that thievery took more than a half-hour's work.

In a more of a hushed voice, Eddie said, "Yeah, I do. Why?"

"You didn't take it?" He sounded mystified.

She hit him on the side of his thigh with the back of her hand. "Of course not," she told him. "I'm not _stupid_."

"Oh."

" _Oh_!"

"If the two of you are finished," one of the receptionists chimed in, "I'd advise you get back to class. Mister Célestin, sit _properly_. Were you raised in a barn?" The last part was directed at RC. Eddie stepped past and slipped out the door before she could get into any real trouble.

Down a grassy slope, the teacher and student parking lot spread out to the edge of the school's personal greenery, which mainly consisted of a few chicken-less chicken coops and a few vegetable gardens with by-the-side compost crates for the earthworms and their shit. The pick-up roundabout circled just to the right of the lot, a couple cars already parked along the sidewalk. Just yonder, past the walkway that led to the street entrance adjacent of campus, was the theater building, and beyond that, the football/track field.

Eddie rubbed at the back of her shaved head and walked along, taking two steps at a time down the stairs and made a right at the administration building. She headed across the Quad and toward the F-wing and passed through a short corridor toward the G-wing. The girl's locker room's doors were closed, and when she tried pulling on them, they wouldn't budge.

"Are you fucking —" Eddie gripped the handle and rattled the door. "You gotta be _kidding_ me!" She pushed away and kicked the door. Her toe throbbed.

It was then that she heard someone talking, muffled by distance, but still distinct. Taking a quick look around, making sure there weren't any teachers wandering outside of their classes, Eddie followed the voice. She walked down the way of the G-wing. The voice became louder and she found that it was coming from the classroom at the end of the building, its door propped right open.

Room G-21 belonged to Mr. Vann's computer class, which was usually used as a hangout spot for most of the underclassmen. Eddie had him for sixth-period for the virtual courses she was taking to make-up lost credit. He was a short man, shorter than Eddie, with a straight nose and wing nut ears. He was quiet, usually kept to himself, but had a steel-like determination when it came to teaching, being the one to spend hours with a student if they didn't understand something. The paneled windows of his classroom were covered from the inside with drawings numerous students had drawn for Mr. Vann over the years. Eddie thought most of them looked terrible.

Eddie was about to walk through the open door when she heard someone say her name, the same someone who was inside the classroom. The person's voice was agonizingly familiar, it gave her head a whirl of confusion to hear it and wondered who could have been talking about her in such a way to reference her full name.

A different voice chimed in, saying, "That's her middle name? What does it mean?"

"Do I look like I know French?" the first voice snapped. There was a shuffle, movement, and then: "Anyway, she's a senior at the school. Bad grades. A truculent asshole."

A third voice spoke, gauging in a sort of watery and broken way that sounded a lot like they were somewhere far away than inside the classroom. "And? What does her file read?"

"If you care so much about the damn file —" there was a _fwoomph_ sound of something flopping down on a hard surface, most likely a tabletop "— why don't you have Madison fax it to Chiron, or something?"

Eddie worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. She leaned her back against the wall outside and did not say a word, only listened and contemplated whether or not she should leave now or later or just walk in on them. If she thought about her choices, Eddie wouldn't have anywhere to go if she just up and left now, or later, given that it was against school rules to wander aimlessly around campus without proper specification.

"Wait." This was the second voice. "Aren't satyrs in every school? How come the ones here aren't doing shit? Like… why were we sent instead of them sending _them_ to us?"

It had taken a moment, but Eddie recognized that voice. She also recognized the other one, too. The third voice, not so much. Jav and Finn. Finn and Jav. She wanted to punch them in the face and call it a day.

"They're _unsmellable_ ," Jav said. "They can't get a good read. Really, we have a list. That Kavinsky guy?"

"Polanski," Finn corrected.

"That _Polanski_ guy? Demigod. Rhys? Undetermined."

"Why do you say that?" the third voice enquired.

"She wasn't able to read the passages Madison set up for her," Finn said, "so we can rule out the dyslexia. I looked through her medical records — okay, I _listened_ while Jav read through her medical records — and found that she doesn't have a history of ADHD. No diagnosis. Nothing."

"And Polanski. What of him?"

"He could read both," Jav said. "He's got no history of ADHD, but he _is_ diagnosed with color vision deficiency, so there's that."

"Huh…" There was a pause, a spacious moment of time that draped the room in silence.

Eddie's chest felt tight. What were they talking about? Files. Medical records. It was as if she was witnessing a plan of action criminals or mafia members make before they go and make their move. It scared her. Honestly, it did.

"Rhys!"

Eddie jerked her shoulders, startled. By the stairs on the other end of the building, Mr. Lothar stood with a hand on his hip. He was this barrel-chested man who dressed in polo shirts and gym shorts, always carrying with him his lanyard that held his keys. His legs were disproportionate to his body, too scrawny and bandy, that he walked with his feet wide apart.

The conversation had stopped. Eddie couldn't hear anyone talking inside Mr. Vann's classroom.

"Rhys!" Mr. Lothar hollered, his voice deep and gruff. He pointed at the ground in front of him. "Get over here, right this instant!"

Reluctantly, Eddie complied. She leisurely walked over to him, and she could see his patience ticking away at every drawl step.

"Hi-ya," she greeted him.

Mr. Lothar's cheeks and ears were flushed. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "You've been gone forty minutes and where do I find you? Relaxing outside, when you should be _inside_ _running_."

Eddie bowed her head knowingly. "Yeah," she said. "Probably. But the doors were locked, so I thought I'd just chill."

" _Locked_?"

His question was one of disbelief, as he reached for the handles and pulled. The locker doors swung right open, as if they'd never been locked in the first place. Eddie's face felt warm. She was embarrassed, but tried not to show it, so she chewed at the inside of her cheek and gave her best impression of a pokerface.

"Oh," she deadpanned.

"' _Oh'_ is right," Mr. Lothar said. "Now, get out of my sight and get dressed. I want you running for the rest of the period, while everyone else plays flag-football out on the field. Do I make myself clear?"

Eddie gave him an impertinent grin. "Yes, sir."

He didn't look so sure. "Uh-huh…" Mr. Lothar wagged his finger at her before turning around and going through the gate that led to the pool area.

Eddie scrubbed at her face with her sleeve and sighed. She felt exhausted. She wanted to go home, maybe eat something, maybe drink something, maybe smoke something, or maybe take a nap. Although her step-mother worked from the apartment, Eddie was sure she was out with her wannabe-witch friends at Forever Enlightened, a little gift shop downtown that sold all things metaphysical. She knew her father was at work, so the place was likely empty.

Eddie turned around and saw no one, heard no one. She wanted to check Mr. Vann's classroom, but thought against it. Mr. Lothar would be waiting, most likely, and she didn't want her grade dropping to an F for failing to cooperate with a teacher, so she popped her neck and dragged herself into the girl's locker room.

* * *

"How do you feel about school assemblies?"

Eddie kicked her feet up on the basket under the desk in front of her. She had her cellphone pressed against her ear, warm from use. Polanski, instead of sitting behind her, like yesterday, sat in the desk beside her. His hood was flipped up, his head resting atop of his folded arms. Neither Mrs. Henderson nor Mr. Jenkins had arrived, and so the class was as loud and as rambunctious as usual.

On the other end of the phone, her girlfriend Selma Wallace replied, "Tedious. Butt-numbing. Why?"

Eddie cracked a grin. She narrowed her eyes at the clock that hung above the whiteboard. It being the start of class, she wasn't necessarily worried about the time, but no authority figure, besides the same police officer from yesterday, had come. She was beginning to think that no one would come and the police officer would have to teach the class instead.

She said, "There's a wrestling match tomorrow at six. I was wondering if you wanted to go. I know you like watching those MMA shows, so I thought, _why not_?"

"Maybe," Selma replied. "But you _do_ know that MMA stands for mixed martial arts, right? It's not wrestling. That's completely different."

Eddie blew out of breath and readjusted the phone against her cheek. "Oh, well, yeah. I mean, on occasion, people're tossed. Yeah?"

"Maybe," Selma said. But there was something in her voice that Eddie caught, something aloof and indifferent.

"You don't want to go…?" Then she added, desultorily, "They're'll be food. And drinks. And me, but you know —"

"I just would've thought we'd be spending our make-up date somewhere more… dignitary." There was an indistinct voice on the other end. A customer, no doubt. She lowered her voice. "Not at some stupid match, so we can cheer on that jackass. I thought you'd want to go to that sushi place, the one by that Belgium deli."

Eddie tilted her head back a little and looked up. Someone, somehow, had stuck an open pad on the ceiling and drawn a smiley face on it in sharpie. "Well, yeah… that would we great, but…" She rubbed the back of her neck. "Come on, please? We can get sushi after?"

"Hold on."

Eddie's chest clenched as she heard Selma put the phone down. A conversation ensued: someone wanting to buy something, Selma asking whether they found everything alright, and the customer replying that they had. Interests were met. Money was exchanged for Item. Selma chirped out a, "Have a nice day," which was followed by the mechanic ring of a door opening.

It was then that the classroom door opened. Eddie turned her head. Mr. Jenkins walked in, the same overstuffed messenger bag he had with him yesterday slung over a shoulder. He had a look of obdurate dread. Eddie covered her mouth with the palm of her hand, hiding her smile. It was day two and he was already tired of the class.

"Edwina."

Eddie turned her head back to the front, but she realized she still had her phone pressed to her ear and that Selma was trying to get her attention.

"Uh, yeah? Sorry. The teacher's here."

Mr. Jenkins made his way to up to the front of the class.

Selma gave an airy laugh. "That's fine. Tell you what, I'll let you get back to class so we can sleep on the fact that you ditched me last night for some druggie-infested carnival with that shit-stain Polanski and that cock-fucker asshole — what's his name? RC? Like _RC Cola_? Fucking Christ, _Rhys_."

Eddie felt her cheeks get warm. She felt insulted. " _Hey_." Her voice was a whisper, laced with anger. Only a couple of heads turned. "This isn't the time to talk about that. If you want to, we can meet up after I —"

"Miss Rhys, was it?" Mr. Jenkins stood at her attention, leaning a hand on top of Mrs. Henderson's desk. "There is an evident rule of no phones being allowed out between the beginning of class to the end of class."

"Oh, um…" All eyes were trained on her. Polanski, thank God, still had his head down and his eyes closed. There was silence on the other line, so Eddie assumed Selma had hung up. She didn't know how to feel about that, so she lowered her hand from her ear and placed her phone down in front of her. "Yeah, I know. I was just, uh, calling… my mom. Our dog died."

Eddie felt humiliated with how terrible her lie sounded when it rolled off her tongue. Lying had never been something Eddie was good at. Since her alliance with RC and his little cartel of wannabe gangsters at the beginning of the school year, her ability to lie had been taught, not a given gift. Since her tryst with Selma, her duplicity had dwindled.

"Well," Mr. Jenkins said, "my condolences. Put your _cell_ phone away and I will get back to my lesson." Eddie dropped her cellphone into her unzipped backpack. "Thank you. Now, today's topic: chthonic deities."


	5. 05

**Before you venture any further, I would like for you all to slow down, breathe, and read the following:**

 **I will be dedicating this chapter solely to Ryan Estrada, a junior who attended Saline High School in Saline, Michigan. On December 9th, 2016, he passed away. He was a member of the wrestling team and was an offensive lineman on the football team in the fall.**

 **"Ryan will be remembered for his humor, his big smile, his love of University of Michigan athletics, and his gregarious personality," Graden wrote. "Our hearts and thoughts go out to Ryan's family, friends, and teachers."**

* * *

David Polanski had been Eddie's friend for nearly two and a half months, and he knew that certain things came along with that friendship. Namely, believing in the supernatural, tolerating Eddie's troubled relationship with money, and co-existing within Eddie's seemingly ethereal family. The former two were problematic only when they took time away from school, and the latter was only problematic when it was Amery Collins.

Eddie had once told Polanski that she was intrigued Amery didn't know how to handle people. What she'd meant by that was this: It was an interesting feat to consider her step-mother as a woman who'd been born and raised within the nest of fortune and old money, and who had abandoned her family's West Virginian home for a recently divorced, single ex-con of a father, who lived paycheck to paycheck with an unemployed adult-enough daughter.

Outside of Auburn Heights, Polanski waited on the second story landing, his hip leaned back against the railing. The morning was a nippy sixty-two, he having had checked the weather on his phone during the walk over, and so he wore jeans and a tee-shirt. A flannel was rolled up in his backpack in case the weather didn't hold up. Polanski tipped his head back to look up at the storm clouds that grayed the sky. In the very deep distance, past all that was Auburn, mountains and its forests were ghosted, disappearing within the brume. Apart from the birds and the town's waking yawn, thunder growled far off.

The door to tenant 20-B opened, and stayed open, as Eddie used her foot to keep it as such. Her attention was directed behind her as she shouted over her shoulder, which included at least one expletive and the first name of her step-mother. She pulled the door closed impetuously. The sound of wood clashing against wood echoed. Someone, either from the first floor or around the bend of the second, yelled, "'Ey!"

Eddie looked up. "Why, hello," she said, voice composed and even-sounding. She smelled richly of pine and spice.

Polanski raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?" he asked, and then said, "You smell like the inside of a convent."

The two of them turned east toward the stairwell and descended, then made their way down south toward Lincoln Way. This wasn't their usual way of walking to school. Habitually, Polanski and Eddie would cut through downtown, maybe grab a coffee and a hot chocolate from Nectar Café, but it was this time that they took the backstreets.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Eddie used her phone as a makeshift mirror to check the quality of her eyeliner. "And it's rude to pry into someone else's personal life."

"It's not really personal when you're gonna tell me anyway," he said.

"True," she said, and then brushed a finger under her eye, which left a charcoaled streak along the side of it. She wiped it off on her leggings. "Amery gave me a reading." In an exaggerated rendition of a Southern accent, she said, "'It's a sign that you need to step away from your external concerns and look on the _inside_.'"

"I thought you didn't believe in that kind of stuff," Polanski said.

Eddie tucked her phone away in her back pocket. "I don't. She wanted to give me one. Free, you know?"

Polanski was familiar with Amery's trade in predictions. In fact, he had been one of the first to have his future nonspecifically read to him, which consisted of an inverted card that depicted a man rowing him and his family in a boat, with six swords imbedded at the bow. _Your perception of life will change_ , Amery had told him. _Your world will change. For better or for worst, that is for_ you _to decide_. People who came to 134 Almond Street delighted themselves in the imprecise nature of their fortunes, seeing it more as a game of realization than a perception of the unconscious. They were coincidences, hunches, chuckles, shivers — they were true and they were untrue. And it was a little startling how accurate Amery Collins' could be. Past and current situations were simpler, either it had already come to pass or it was in the process of happening. The future, on the other hand, was a tricky bastard to seek out. The future was unknowable; too easy to change at a beat's notice, too flexible, a golden string with an infiniteness of split ends.

Eddie drew an imaginary line in the air as the two of them waited at the traffic juncture in front of the Presbyterian church. "She gave me single-card reading last night. That was, well… exhausting."

"How so?" Polanski pressed the crosswalk button. A little mechanical voice told them to _wait_.

"I pulled the Knight of Swords," she said. "It isn't something you want to get relating to any sort of relationship, which was _exactly_ what my question was. You know, Selma and everything." Polanski opened his mouth in a sort of knowing _Ahhh…_. "Anyway, it was an interpretation on how I'm too focused on _me_ than I am towards _her_ , which, inadvertently, makes sense."

The light turned green and signaled for them to cross. They walked across the street.

Polanski raised an eyebrow. "And you say all that hocus-pocus shit is fake."

In a defensive manner, Eddie exclaimed, "It is!" and then: "But it's, you know, _Amery_. Sometimes it doesn't always feel like a coincidence."

"Maybe it _is_ and you're in denial."

"Oh, _shut up_."

Kingsmen High was abandoned once they arrived. Classes were in session, sure, but Polanski and Eddie were not scheduled for a first period. What made up their seven periods was the fact that they took an after-school extracurricular class in exchange for a later start of the day, to sleep in.

They walked past the administration building. Attached to the side of the building was a stairwell that led to the school's library on the second floor, and hung over the railing's edge was a poster informing students of the wrestling meet that was happening after school at six. Below the apparent time and date was a list of the forthcoming teams, plus an enumeration of Kingsmen's participating players. Polanski's name was listed first.

Polanski saw Pom on the other side of the Quad, sitting at one of the outdoor picnic tables, hunched over an open binder, a clutter of papers spread out before him. Marsh sat across from him, his arms folded on top of his backpack, chatting away. Polanski decided it was within his best interest to clamber down the steps toward them. He hadn't seen either of them since the night of RC's party.

"Hey, Eddie, I —" When he turned to look over his shoulder, expecting Eddie to be standing at his side, he found her wandering over to Tabitha Limner and two of her skinhead friends, who all sat on top of the concrete ledge outside of the MUR.

Sometimes Polanski forgot how social Eddie's unsocial life was, that it wasn't just him who she talked to or hung around with. For this, he was grateful. He turned his back on the four of them and made his way down toward Pom and Marsh.

"Hey, you guys," he called out, skipping the last step. He slid into sit beside Marsh, who bumped knuckles with him. Pom did not say a word, nor did he lift his head up on account of Polanski's arrival.

"He's gotta test to make-up," Marsh explained. He raised his voice as he said, "You know, the one he _didn't study for_."

Pom made a sort of irritable growling noise in the back of his throat. He scribbled something out, realized his mechanical pencil had an eraser, and hastily scrubbed at the paper. He reached his other hand over to where his phone sat on top of his open binder and pressed one of the side buttons. He wore earphones, so it was a plausible assumption that he was turning up the volume to tune Marsh and Polanski out.

Marsh let out a harsh laugh, all cackle, all throat and no gut. Pom ignored him, ignored everything, and set his attention between his note-taking and the notes he was copying off from.

Polanski then remembered Marsh's busted car. He remembered when it being crashed it into the trunk of a tree, and he remembered it being lit on fire. He remembered how it hadn't been Marsh's car entirely, that his father had most likely been the one to pay for it. And so he asked him if his father knew about his car's ruinous condition.

Marsh did not seem too bothered when he said, "Yes."

Polanski was dumbfounded. " _Yes_? Your dad's not — oh, I don't know — upset?"

"Oh, no. He was." Marsh shrugged. "At first. He just kind of brushed it off. Said, 'Boys will be boys.'"

" _Boys will be boys_!" Polanski repeated exasperatedly. "That's a load of bullshit. What did he do? Get you a new car?"

Marsh stared at him, did not flinch, and said, "Yes."

Polanski narrowed his eyes. "I hate you."

"You wouldn't be the first."

"DONE!"

The two of them startled. Marsh kneed the underside of the table, jostling it. Pom took the buds out of his ears and wrapped the cord around his phone, not bothering to pause his music. He stretched his arms out and above his head.

"Welp!" he exclaimed, "that was a waste of my time."

"No, it wasn't," Polanski said. He across the table and grabbed the notes Pom was copying off of. "Chemistry? No wonder you failed the first time."

Pom gestured toward him with an open palm. " _Thank you_."

Marsh shrugged. "Whatever. Fail. I don't care." He plucked the paper out of Polanski's hand. "But this is the last time you're copying my notes. Here's an idea: you could actually — _fucking_ — study."

Pom shuffled the clutter of papers he had out and tucked them away in his binder, stuffing it all into his messenger bag. He sloppily folded the notes he'd just taken and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He put up his middle finger to Marsh.

At that moment, the bell for third period rung.

Polanski popped his neck and stood. A sudden voice said, "Hey," and he nearly jabbed whoever-they-were with his elbow. When he turned around, Eddie had her hands held up in front of her face, her eyes squinted and mouth open.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, and then slapped Polanski's arm. "One bruise is enough."

"Sorry," he said.

"Eddie!" Pom slung an arm around her shoulders and jostled her. He gave her a mild-enough noogie as she tried to release herself from his grasp. "So good to see you! How've you been? Oh, geez, that bruise. Didn't RC do that?"

Eddie managed to worm her way free. At the mention of her bruise, she reached a hand up to press her fingers against it, which made the left side of her mouth throb painfully and sent a cold tingle that ran up the back of her neck. She felt lightheaded, if only for a short moment. It seemed as though Pom — and maybe Polanski and Marsh, too — saw her hesitation, but no one spoke a word.

"Yes, RC did this," she said, and then added, "accidentally."

Marsh swung his backpack over his right shoulder. "Bullshit," he said. "The only accident here, is RC's birth. The world can do without people like him around."

Considerately, Pom said, "Amen."

Pom put his arm around Eddie's shoulders again, but this time she didn't falter and try to move away. She tucked her hands into the pouch of her hoodie. Because Polanski and Marsh had classes in the E- and I-wing buildings, and because Pom and Eddie had to walk to the other end of campus for their classes, the four of them said their good-byes and split into pairs.

Eddie felt her cellphone buzz in her back pocket, but ignored it. For the moment, at least.

When Pom and she walked through the corridor that separated the D-wing and the MUR, they stopped by the bench outside of room C-15.

"Here we are," Pom said. He slipped his arm from her shoulders and busied his hands by clutching the strap of his bag. His lips parted, and Eddie saw a thought pass over him, that made him hesitate for a fraction of a second in that moment.

Eddie, probingly, said, "What?"

"It's just… RC." She rolled her eyes, but Pom furrowed his eyebrows. "No, I'm serious. You went to the office, right?" She tilted her head to and fro. "Right. But he wasn't suspended. What did Lau'ese say?"

Eddie pursed her lips. "Why are you so worked up on RC, anyway? It was an accident."

"Accident _my ass_."

Pom was clearly upset, and Eddie didn't blame him. She would be upset, too, if she knew someone who'd gotten punched in the face and was completely fine with their hitter getting off the hook. However, the only thing separating their beliefs in justice was this: Eddie still worked under the influence of RC. She still ran his purchases out of her apartment. The last thing she needed was an arrest warrant for cultivating marijuana with an intent to distribute it. She did not tell Pom this.

" _Anyway_ ," Eddie said, "don't you have a chemistry test to not fail?"

Pom laughed. "Oh, you heard?"

"How could I _not_? You guys are loud on your own."

" _Thanks_."

Eddie made a gesture with her hands that was meant to shoo Pom away. "Now, go. Leave. Don't let me keep you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Pom turned away, walking down the hallway in the direction of the B- and A-wing, waving his hand over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow!"

Eddie did not reply, did not know what to say. Tomorrow would be a Saturday. Eddie usually spent her Saturdays in bed, until either Amery needed assistance with a client or her father woke her up, so she could get ready for the day. _I don't want you sleeping in_ , was what he would tell her. _I don't want it to become a habit._ Unless Pom had called the psychic hotline — an idea that Amery thought would be a lucrative addition — and made an appointment. If that were the case, he could have spoke to Eddie directly. Among the students of Kingsmen High School, it was no secret Eddie Rhys was the step-daughter of a well-thought-of psychic, and so if anyone was curious enough, they had the well-suited chance to acquire information from her.

Or Pom thought tomorrow was a Friday. Eddie was sure that was the case.

Instead of heading into her art class, Eddie turned around and made a beeline for the restrooms. They were located across the hallway from the College & Career Center of the D-wing. When she pushed the door open and walked in, a few girls were leaving. She wasn't entirely sure if she was the only one in the bathroom, so she retreated herself into the nearest stall, locked it, took out her phone, sat down on the toilet, and waited.

The late bell rung.

Eddie waited, waited, waited.

It was quiet, saved for the continuous dripping of a broken faucet of one of the many sinks that lined the wall just outside of the stall. Her perception of time was not the best, so when she estimated that twenty minutes had gone by and checked the time on her phone, only ten had.

Suddenly, Eddie's phone lit up; an incoming call. She answered it.

"Selma," she said. "Hey."

"Eddie," Selma said, was all she said.

Eddie did not speak. She listened to the static between them and stared at the tiled floor. She then raised her head to look ahead at the stall door, saw the scratched graffiti it had endured. A black Sharpie had scrawled _de wallen_ and Eddie's step-mother's psychic hotline number below it. She wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Something cracked on the other end of the line, like an electric spark gone awry.

Eddie pressed her phone against her ear. "Hello?"

"I'm here," came Selma's response, her voice soft and airy. "I wanted to talk to you. Is this a bad time?"

"No," she said. "I'm in the bathroom."

"At school?"

"Yeah." Eddie fingered the toilet-paper roll in its dispenser, tearing little pieces off and rolling them up between her fingers before dropping them to the ground. "I got your message."

"Oh, yeah."

"Is this about that night?" Eddie asked.

"It — Eddie, I —" Selma sighed. "It _is_ about that night, and I'm just going to say it: you lied to me. You thought it would help you in some selfish way."

Eddie's initial thought was to apologize, but when she thought about it, she had never lied to Selma throughout their relationship. But she supposed staying silent and pretending like nothing had ever happened was the same thing as dishonesty.

"I'm… sorry?" She scratched at the back of her neck. "I just — I would have rather gone to that party than go out with you that Wednesday night."

"So… _what_? You don't want to hang out with me anymore, is that it? You don't love me anymore to go out with me?"

"That's not—" Eddie sighed, frustrated. She gathered herself and said, "Selma, I love you. I do. It's just… I just didn't want to go."

On the other end, Selma made an exasperated sound in the back of her throat. "Why? Because you'd get bored? _Jesus_ , Eddie, how selfish can you _be_?"

"Selma —"

"Save it." Eddie's chest felt tight. "If you want to go out and get high, get drunk, with a bunch of fucking addicts? Be my guest. Just don't come crawling back to me, expecting me to take you back. I tried to help. You didn't want it. You wanna be a fuck-up? Go be one to someone else. I bet Polanski'll be more than willing."

Eddie kneaded her thigh with the hand she wasn't holding her cellphone with. She pressed the tips of her fingers into the fabric of her jeans and watched her joints turn white, watched the prominent curve of her knuckles jut out slightly, watched how her muscles flexed in her forearm.

"You know what?" she finally said. "Fuck you. Fuck. You."

The dripping from the broken faucet was obnoxious now — too loud, too in-the-way of everything, despite being the way it was.

Selma laughed. It was something that was neither pleasing nor humorous. "Oh, fuck me? Fuck _you_!" Eddie's eyes stung, but she did not will herself to cry. "What am I to you, anyway? Just some _placeholder_? Do I exist in your life, so you can _use_ me when you feel like it, and then just push me away when you get _bored_?"

Eddie leaned back as her heart vacated. She tried to keep her voice as level as possible. "Please, don't turn this on me. I'm sorry I didn't want to go out with you and your friends to the — to the _fucking_ movies, to watch some trashy paranormal movie. You know, most of what goes on isn't even real. It's all exaggerated."

"That's besides the point!" Selma exclaimed. " _You ditched me_ , _Eddie_. That hurt. A lot." There was a pause, a heavy capacity of loathing and dismissal, of tension and heavy silence that Eddie was used to giving and not receiving. Until: "Can we — not do this?"

For a moment, Eddie did not understand.

"Do what?" she asked.

" _This_."

"I don't…"

"I don't want _this_ anymore — what we have."

Eddie swallowed. Her lower lip quivered. She knotted her brows and glared at the floor, her vision blurring from her tears. She allowed herself to cry.

"I feel that it would be better," Selma continued, "if we weren't together anymore. I just… I'm _tired_ of having to tiptoe around all the ship you do. You wanna ruin your life with drugs? Alcohol? Your fucked-up friends? Go right a-fucking-head."

Eddie looked up at the ceiling, trying to control her shaky breaths and clear her stuffed-up nose.

"That's…" she managed, and then bit her bottom lip.

"Eddie?" Selma's voice was softer, cautious, but ever sharp. "Are you crying?"

"No," she sobbed. "I'm _sorry_ , Selma."

"Yeah, well… I'm sorry, too."

Because there was no more need to talk, the line was hung up.

There was a moment of insolent silence as Eddie continued to cry. Time became a comprehension-less thing. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Admittedly so, by the end of brunch, Eddie had come up with the assumption that she had been the one in fault, that she was the one to blame, burying herself in a form of guilt that she was foreign with.

Eddie powered her phone off. If she received a call or a message, it would have to wait until she got home. For the time being, she wiped her eyes, tracing a finger to clean up any eyeliner that might have smeared. She fanned herself with her hands, cooling her face, and took steady, collective breaths.

When she thought she had calmed herself down enough, Eddie unlocked the stall door and walked out.

A toilet flushed.

Eddie's chest clenched. _I will not cry again_ , _not in front of this person_.

From around the corner of the other set of stalls, a heavyset girl emerged, walking with a pair of crutches. She hobbled to the farthest sink and quickly washed her hands. She did not bother to dry them off with the blowdryers and, instead, made her way toward the door that Eddie stood by.

The girl turned around and used her behind as a means to open the door for herself. Eddie and her made eye contact for a second.

Embarrassed, Eddie snapped, "What?"

The girl averted her eyes and left, the door closing behind her with a soft _ssshhh—puh_.

The bell for fifth period rang. Eddie rubbed her nose and then left the bathroom.

* * *

"What do you mean _maybe_?"

Polanski stood in the locker room. He was dressed in the singlet he wore for his matches, yellow and navy blue, with the letter K on the left side of his abdomen. He clutched his cellphone in one hand, his head tipped back in a way that gave equal attention to the conversation and his fatigue. A few other players on the team walked by, oblivious and passing.

To the phone, Polanski said, "That's not an answer, Rhys. Pom and Marsh 're comin'. At _least_ stay for the first half."

On the other end of the line, Eddie sat on the couch in the living room of her apartment, holding the cordless home-phone between her shoulder and ear, listening as Polanski gave a frustrated sigh. The TV was on, muted, playing a re-run episode from _Castle_ , a crime-comedy-drama TV series that Eddie's step-mother watched from time to time. She held two halves of a deck of tarot cards in her hands and, proficiently and a little self-consciously, shuffled them on the coffee table in front of her.

"Maybe," she repeated, and then selected one card. "What time is it? If you buy afterwards, I'll come." She laid it face down.

"Quarter past seven," Polanski replied. "And no deal. I bought last time."

Eddie flipped the card over and saw that it was the Five of Cups, depicting a figure draped in black, their head bent forward, staring at three spilt cups as two up-right ones stood behind them. She pursed her lips and said, "Then I'm not coming."

" _Eddie_ ," he said, his voice tight and asserted.

"Mh-hmm…" She turned over the card, blew on the back of it, and flipped it over again. The Five of Cups became the Wheel of Fortune, staring back at her.

"You aren't even listening to me."

Confused on the outcome of her self-reading, Eddie said, unsure, "No?" She realized her spacious behavior and quickly added: "Sorry. Reading. I'll be there." She slipped the card into her back pocket.

"You were _reading_?" Polanski sounded unconvinced. "I guess there's a first for everything."

"Jackass," was what she called him. " _Tarot_ reading. I was just… curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"Yeah, but satisfaction brought it back."

"Whatever," he said, and then said nothing.

A pause.

Static.

And then: "I have to go. Be here, _please_. Is Wallace coming?" The last part was asked in such a way, that Polanski did not hide his antipathy.

Eddie pretended not to have noticed. "No," she said. "I'll be there. Give me fifteen minutes."

Polanski made a disapproving grunt. "I'll give you ten. You're buying."

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

Polanski hung up.

Eddie put the phone back on its holder. She looked to where the keys to her father's truck sat on the kitchen countertop, beside his half-drunken cup of coffee that he'd left since he made it that morning. The clock in the living room that hung above Amery's makeshift Wiccan alter, a repellently ugly vintage Tavern-esque clock she had found lying by a bin at the dump, said 7: 18.

To the quiet, and to herself, Eddie said, "Okay."

Because her father and step-mother had taken the Toyota to the grocery store, Eddie grabbed the truck's keys, her hoodie, and her glasses before leaving. She blasted Bauhaus on full volume as she backed out of tenant 20-B's parking space, yelling along with the third verse of "Crowds" as it came to pass.

The student parking lot was packed when Eddie arrived.

She was a couple of minutes behind the ten she was originally supposed to have arrived at, but she supposed her wallet would have to tough it out this time around. On her way over, she'd left a voicemail on the answering machine explaining the missing truck and her current whereabouts, that she'd be coming home late, and that she'd be getting dinner with Polanski. She knew Amery would not be pleased, which made the situation all the better. Her father, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less, as long as he knew where she was and who she was with.

Stereo unreasonably loud, a few straggling students stared. Eddie parked a ways away, which was the closest she could get with how many people had come to watch tonight's wrestling matches. She pulled on her hoodie as she scooted herself out from the driver's seat, closing the door behind her with her foot. After locking it, she pulled the hood over her head and made her way toward the new gym at the back of school campus.

Eddie was met with a cacophony of stadium-like chatter at she entered through one of the side entrances, and had the urge to turn tail. That was, until an arm was slung over her shoulders and she was pulled to someone's side. That was happening a lot lately, she realized, and was starting to get a little sick of it. She wriggled free of their grip.

"Yo — hey, dollface." RC grinned. His eyes were dilated, all pupil and little iris. The swelling of his cheek had gone down considerably, and in its place was a sickly yellow-green bruise. He gestured to his own face. "I like the glasses. Very _librarian_. So _sophisticated_."

Eddie screwed her mouth up, abhorred. "Don't call me that," she said. "What do you want?"

He put a hand to his chest, theatrically appalled. "I'm hurt."

"Good."

She ignored his twisted expression of mock distress, for however much he was worth, and stared out over the hundreds of heads of students and visitors. Two large wrestling mats, with three circles at the center of each one, were rolled out on the gym floor. Rows of chairs for the home and visiting teams lined either side of each mat, along with two sets of tables the judges sat at.

RC leaned his elbow on her shoulder. "Lookin' for the Bitch?" he asked, his voice absent of curiosity and, instead, pricked with the pitch of enticement.

Without looking at him, Eddie said, irritably so, "Polanski. Yes."

It made a world of difference having glasses. Eddie could actually _see_ five feet in front of her and make out another person's face without having to squint or strain her eyes. Now she didn't have to glare at the whiteboard in any of her classrooms or get in Polanski's hair about the reading what was on the board for her to write down. Now she could look across the gym and pick out who was who without getting in their face about it. This was how she spotted Polanski, who sat with the rest of his team. This was also how she spotted Finn and Jav; they were seated just a few levels up on the bleachers, talking with…

Eddie narrowed her eyes.

They were conversing with the girl with the crutches she'd had a run-in with in the bathroom earlier that day. Until now, Eddie had never seen either of them have any interaction with her. The three of them were, from what she could see, exchanging something — the girl was handing it over to Jav, who in turn, handed the girl something small and shiny.

RC bent Eddie's right ear forward, folding it over.

She whirled on him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He looked at her, wide-eyed and innocent. "Nothing."

"Stop it." She turned her attention back on Polanski, who was getting ready to go up against a much larger player from the other school's team.

RC did not stop it.

Irritated, Eddie grabbed his wrist that hung over her shoulder.

RC scoffed. "Oh, she has a temper! What're you gonna do? You can't fight for shi—ah-OW!"

She had pulled and twisted his arm backwards, having made him hunch over, groaning and cursing.

Eddie let go of RC's wrist and stuffed her hands in the pouch of her hoodie. She jogged past a row of cheerleaders who sat on the lower-most bench of the bleachers, and bounded up the center aisle. She hadn't been looking Pom or Marsh, but she found them at the very end, sitting beside each other, both of them on their phones.

She kicked Marsh's shoe when she walked up to them.

"Rhys," he said, looking up at her. He scooted over, bumping hips with Pom, who slid down in response. "You're late. It's already intermission."

Eddie took a seat, flipping her hood up. "There was traffic," she lied.

Marsh raised an eyebrow, but did't comment. Pom leaned forward and handed her his cellphone, but when she took it and swiped the screen, the lock pad was telling her to enter the device's four-digit pincode.

She shook the phone. "Pom!"

"Five-seven-eight-three," he told her. "The article's already open. Just read it."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Eddie tapped the pincode in. The screen was swept away to an open article that was entitled "Unknown Creature Spotted At Foothills of Auburn Heights," followed by a five-minute video that took to automatically playing once Eddie scrolled over it. It featured the east side of the Auburn Heights, a historic mansion that had been converted into a condominium. The holder's shaky filming made it difficult to see exactly what was going on, but Eddie could just barely make out two little white pinpricks that she assumed were supposed to be eyes.

Marsh watched over Eddie's shoulder. Pom, still leaning forward, had his hands clasped in his lap, a look of frivolous excitement on his face that brought out the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the one dimple on his right cheek.

"So?" he prodded.

Eddie didn't know what to say. "I, uh… It's really, uh, awesome?" She hunched her shoulders a little. "I mean, it's just a dog. I don't know — how I should react?"

Pom shrugged and stretched his arm across from Marsh, his hand open palm-up. "I didn't really expect you to do anything, really. Your reaction was pretty much what I thought it would be."

She gave him back his phone.

"What was that about, anyway?" Marsh asked, clearly not interested but somewhat curious.

Eddie noticed that Polanski was back with his team. She'd completely missed his match. Really, at this point, she'd missed all of them. She watched as he sat down beside Adam Kraemer, one of Kingsmen's star heavyweights. They were talking, gesturing with their hands. When Polanski looked up briefly in Pom, Marsh, and Eddie's general direction, it seemed as though Eddie and him met eye contact. And she knew it had happened when Polanski held up his middle finger at her when he thought no one was looking.

Eddie mouthed, _Fuck off_ , and flipped him off with both of her hands.

Polanski shrugged and made an expression of genuine abhorrence.

And then RC was running, stumbling over himself, toward the left side of the gym. He ran with a lame limp, like he was hurt, like he was injured. It was not his running that caught Eddie off guard, but the position he was in _while_ running — RC was on all fours, his hands and his feet, hurdling toward the wrestling mat Polanski and his team were stationed at. He was also very, very naked.

Marsh started to say, "What the —"

"— Fuck!" Pom exclaimed, finishing the question (or maybe it was a statement, Eddie wasn't sure).

RC bit the closest player he was by, which happened to be a sophomore whose name Eddie couldn't bother to remember, and tore out a decent-sized chunk of skin and muscle. The sophomore yelled, screamed, and even gave an effort of swing a fist. RC spat out the boy's gore, gave a nasty snarl, straight up pounced on him.

The gym trembled with the hurried leave of those who had come. Feet thundered against the bleachers. Someone pushed past Eddie, shoving her shoulder. In the vastness of people absconding, she'd lost track of Polanski and couldn't find where he was. It was a relief RC hadn't gotten to him next, because right after he was finished with the sophomore, he attacked another student who happened to be on the wrestling team.

Eddie was roughly pulled to the floor. The _floor_ , in this case, being the trench between the benches. She found a head full of blond hair and unfocused misty green eyes above her. Finn's forearm was pressed across her chest, keeping her down. For what reason, Eddie had no idea. In her current position, she felt useless and irritable. So she did what she thought was best: she head-butted Finn and pushed him aside.

Finn rolled and twisted himself, landing in a sort of crouch on the lower bench. He was dazed, if only for a moment, before standing up and looking directly at Eddie.

"What was that for?" he asked, demanded, but there was no heat to his words.

Eddie helped herself to stand. "Wha'd you mean ' _what was that for_ '? The fuck you don'?"

"Trying to save your life!"

To Eddie, this statement seemed nonsensical. Her life didn't need saving. She'd been fine where she was. She was up high, out of the way of RC, out of the way of any rabidness that he'd been infected with. But, for a moment, Eddie felt abruptly stupid. She couldn't figure out what she'd needed saving from.

Her response was silence and an infuriated hand gesture. Finn was not impressed. He pointed at Eddie, but it wasn't at her, it was something behind her.

Eddie turned around.

Three large, very large, bodkin-like spikes were embedded in the wall. The wall was made of concrete. Eddie was moderately impressed and tolerably taken aback to as to _what_ could have caused it.

She turned back around, but found Finn trampling down toward the floor, trampling over every other step. In his hand was a silver sword, all polished and eye-catching. Eddie was curious as to where it had come from, because she was very, very sure he wasn't holding anything in his hand earlier.

He was met with Jav, who also wielded a sword. This one, however, was not a straight-sword, but a curved-bladed katana. The two of them stood before RC, who was hunched over, like a feral beast, with his body low and muscles tense. His mouth, chin, and hands were covered in blood. The floor around him was littered with bloody handprints. Two bodies were laid out, eaten. A monstrous feast.

Eddie spotted Polanski bounding up the steps toward her, pulling his sweatshirt on over his singlet. He wore the Kingsmen mesh shorts the school usually gave out to freshmen students during August orientation.

And then Eddie noticed that Marsh and Pom were no where to be seen; they'd ran, just as everyone else had. It was only Finn and Jav against a ferocious RC, and Polanski and Eddie against the thicket of reality.

"Hey," he breathed once he reached her. "You know — _do_ you know what's goin' on?"

"Oh, _please_ ," she said. "Like I'd have any idea."

RC's breathing came out stiff. He wheezed and snarled, sounding less human and more animal. When he spoke, it sounded as if he were choking on his own words.

"I was close," he said, his words dragging with every exhale. "But I'm not done. I'm not finished yet. I still — have time." His shoulder blades protruded at an awkward angle when he dragged his right hand forward. The bumps of his spine too prominent, too noticeable.

Jav mumbled something. He shook his head and brought a foot back to better balance his stance.

"I don't like you very much," RC continued. He lowered himself into a position that could have only been described as one a feline might make in accordance to their prey. He was getting ready to pounce the two of them. "You've always seemed to have gotten in my way."

Jav grinned. "How's that nose fairing? Can't smell 'em now, huh?"

RC bared his teeth.

Polanski, because he was just as confused and irritated as Eddie was, yelled down to them, "Hey! What the fuck?"

Jav shouted for him to "Shut up," while Finn held up the end of his sword toward RC. RC, in return, ignored him, but stayed back. He, instead, glowered up at Polanski and Eddie.

And then he grinned, and the two of them knew something not-so-fun was bound to happen.

RC's skin melted away. Literally.

Finn and Jav had to step back a few feet, careful of avoiding any sort of contact with _whatever_ had come off of RC's body. The air smelt heavily of sulfur and sandalwood. It became warm and stuffy. Muscles rolled, tendons stretched, bones cracked. RC's body was physically transforming into something that was entirely not his.

Polanski began descending to get a closer look, just a few steps ahead of Eddie who followed.

Jav turned his head and coughed into the juncture of his elbow, dry-heaving, retching. He went through the actions of throwing up, but never actually _vomited_. Finn, blind and seemingly unaffected, screwed his face up into something distasteful, like the sight of RC transmuting from one thing to another in the most disgusting way possible was a personal offense.

RC shook. He shook himself like a wet dog shakes its hide. But in this case, instead of water, it was blood. It went everywhere — it splattered all over Finn and Jav and Polanski and Eddie. It was wet and it was red and it was not _his_ , not _hers_. Eddie tasted something metallic in her mouth and felt like throwing up. Polanski seemed to have been cursing every vulgar word he knew.

It was difficult to think of RC as Rayko Célestin when he didn't look anything like himself. Instead of being human, he was not-very-much-so, appearing more dog than the like. Except, he wasn't just _dog_ , but an assortment of animals. He came up to Jav and Finn's waist, his head elongated and weasel-like, his neck thick and sinewy. His haunches were those of a dwarf stag, diminutive and squat and with cloven hooves. A long, lean tail swooshed back and forth.

RC grinned, which was a terrifying feat, and his teeth looked as though they had been filed flat and even-like, all ridges of bone in place of rows of teeth. And when he spoke, it sounded _exactly_ like RC's voice.

"I think I like this better," he said, really, to no one in particular. He pawed at the floor. "You saw what I did to those two, but they weren't _nearly_ as satisfying. I think four half-bloods should do the trick."

Finn twirled his sword and took a defensive step forward. RC took a step back. "You're not getting to them, _kynolykos_." He spat out the last word with great distaste.

" _What the fuck_ is going on?" Polanski asked, demanded.

Eddie wiped at her mouth, but it did nothing against the bitter taste in her mouth and the blood on her face. She let out a straggled groan, rubbing her hands on her jeans.

RC bent his head awkwardly, his eyes inky and soulless as he stared at the two of them. "You don't _know_?" He lowered himself. "Well, never mind that. You two'll taste _wonderful_."

Jav took to having a defensive stance just as RC sprang, the claws of his front paws razor-sharp and gleaming. Both Finn and Jav raised their weapons, aiming for a hit, for the underside of RC's flank. He landed in front of them and, lowering his head, raised his hindquarters into the air and bucked Finn and Jav off their feet.

Polanski shielded Eddie with his arm once RC rounded on them, pushing her back. But what it really did was push both of them backwards against the bottom-most bench, toppling them over it. They fell not-so-gracefully. Polanski hit the back of his elbow, casing it to lame and go numb for a moment. Eddie's left shin hurt, pain flaming at every little throb.

RC stalked forward, teeth bared. "Let's get this over with," he snarled. "I'm expected to make this quick, so scream all you want." His claws raked against the floor.

Eddie felt Polanski move, adjust something, an arm or a leg. He reached behind him, to something that was just out of his reach. As helpful as she could be, Eddie scooted it forward, in which _it_ was an aluminum Z-Core baseball bat that someone had left when they were escaping.

When RC bared the flats of his teeth and surged forward, Polanski thrusted the bat at his head. However, instead of it being at bat, like it was _supposed_ to have been, it was a sword. It was a straight sword with a sickle protrusion along one edge, near the tip of the blade. The same sickle protrusion that caught the right side of RC's furry neck and tore it open.

RC wailed and blood spilt from his open wound onto Polanski and Eddie. It was not red, like the color blood was supposed to have been. It was black and thick and stuck to their clothes, to their skin. It was then that Eddie pulled herself out from under Polanski. The two of them scrambled to their feet and simply… stared — they stared at the blood, at the wounded RC, at Polanski's newly founded sword.

"Hey!"

Finn stood at the center of the wrestling mat. In his hand was a sterling trident, one he hadn't been wielding before. Eddie wondered where his sword had gone. Jav stood beside him, his katana lower in his hand. Their stances were defiant and unbreakable, Trojan heroes ready for battle. Finn waved his arm, a gesture that was usually acquainted with the word _go_ or _run_.

RC turned his head to look at him. This small distraction allowed Polanski and Eddie to slip away, which prompted them to scramble up the bleachers and out of harms way. Except there was a problem: they did not stay together. Eddie ascended as Polanski ran toward the locker room that had been left propped open.

Snarling and growling, RC advanced toward Finn and Jav.

And then there were two explosions. Both that lit up the entirety of the gym and blinded the eyes.

RC reared back and barked out a yelp.

Eddie turned her head away at the last second and scrunched her eyes shut. Blots of color wavered in her sight. There was a strangled shout, a hoarse cry, a subtle sob, and then quiet. A moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It guided her to stand up, guided her down the bleachers, and guided her outside. She knew she was outside when the cold nipped at her nose, brushing her face and the back of her neck, when she began to shiver. It was also the chance she took to ram her elbow into the abdomen of whoever was touching her.

Jav let out a stifled " _Oof_."

Eddie silently grinned to herself.

When she opened her eyes and whirled on him, her vision tilted and brilliant blues and pinks splotched at her vision. Her glasses were gone. She couldn't make out Jav's face, but she punched it anyway.

" _Ow_!" he yelled, and held his cheek. He glowered down at Eddie. "What was that for?"

"Everything," she said, and then prodded a finger to his chest. "I want an explanation for _everything_. What happened back there? What happened to _RC_?"

He looked at her, stared at her for a beat too long, and narrowed his eyes. "No," he said.

" _Excuse me_?"

"You two fighting already?"

Jav and Eddie turned to see Finn walking toward them. Polanski was at his side, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. When he saw Eddie, his shoulders visibly relaxed, seemingly relieved to see that she was all right.

Eddie opened her mouth to comment, but was cut off when something started going off, like a beeping alarm.

Jav said, "Oh," and reached to grab something from his back pocket. That _something_ was a bronze-colored burner phone. He checked it, frowned, and then looked at Finn, who in return raised a single eyebrow.

"Blake?" he asked.

"Blake," Jav agreed. He pressed the call button and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hey?" He turned his back on the three of them and began speaking in a different language.

Polanski and Eddie exchanged a discombobulated look. Reality was a bridge that was beginning to crumble beneath them, and they didn't have the means to build it back up again. It seemed as though someone had scratched at the scab of their life, of their existence, of the truth.

Eddie, remembering the tarot card she'd tucked away in her back pocket, pulled it out and was very, very confused. Typically, when it came to tarot, one side of a card depicted an elaborately designed motif while the other showed the visionary aspect of divination. However, Eddie's card depicted the Five of Cups on one side and the Wheel of Fortune on the other — an impossible attainment.

Finn caught sight and plucked it from her hold.

She exclaimed, "Hey!" but he gave her a look that had her holding her tongue.

He showed it to Jav. "Seem familiar?"

Jav said something to the phone, to someone named _Blake_ on the other end, and came to Finn's side and looked down. His eyebrows knitted together. "Holy…" He looked at Eddie. "You did that?"

Defiant, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe," she said. "What's it to ya?"

Jav ignored her and pressed the phone to his ear again, turning his back on the conversation.

"In a vision —" Finn held up the card, Five of Cups showing, and then flipped it over to the Wheel of Fortune. "— I saw this combination. Over and over."

Eddie looked uncertain, scrunching up her nose. "You _saw_ it? So, what? Like a prediction? A _second sight_?"

"Yes." He executed a voice that was something between the effects of condescension and blatant veracity. It left Eddie bristling. She took it as a personal disparage toward her step-mother's profession of prediction.

Polanski put a hand on her shoulder, which didn't stop the anger that frayed her nerves, but kept her from doing anything that she would regret.

Jav pulled the phone away and hung up, and then turned toward Finn. "We gotta go," he said. "We have to leave now if we wanna make it to the Caldecott."

Finn rounded his lips to an O. "Okay…" He tucked the tarot card into the pocket of his jacket. Eddie glared at him.

Polanski held up a hand, as if to halt all aspect of time. "Hold on. Caldecott? As in, the tunnel that heads west toward _San Francisco_?"

"Yeah?" Jav sounded as if he wasn't sure he understood the hesitation. "We have to go? Now? Finn…"

"No," said Eddie. Then, again: "No. _No_. I don't get what's going on, but I'm _not_ going to Frisco. I'm not going _anywhere_ with you guys."

"What?" Finn looked perplexed, if only for a moment. "You have to?"

" _Pshaw_!" She flipped him off. "Go fuck yourself."

"Well, that's not very nice."

Jav took Eddie by the arm, forcing her attention to him. She immediately snagged it back.

"You don't have a choice," he said, "whether or not you want to come with us. Because you _are_ coming with us."

To her credit, Eddie didn't back down. Her ears were pink, but she said, "Get out of my face."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then I'll —"

"Jav," said Finn.

Jav took a step back. Eddie closed her mouth. The two of them regarded each other with a heavy sense of qualm. They did not consider each other friends, and it showed.

"At this point," Finn began to say, "I'd recommend that the two of you shake hands and get over it, but it doesn't seem as though that's going to happen any time soon. Look, Eddie —" graciously, he received her full attention without so much of a fit, "I — _we_ — understand what both of you are going through. But you guys are going to have to face the fact that you guys aren't normal. The only way any of you'll be safe is by coming with us."

"What about our parents?" Polanski asked. "What are you going to tell them? That we just _ran away_? I doubt they'd believe the whole monster shtick."

"We've already got people for that," Jav said. "But we have orders to bring the two of you back."

Finn slapped him on the arm. "Don't say it like that."

"Say it like _what_?"

" _Orders_."

"It's _true_." Jav cracked his knuckles and shook out his hands. "Look, we don't have time for this."

"Then make time," Eddie stipulated.

He got in her face again. She made a defiant gesture by crossing her arms over her chest, and did not move, did not back down, and tilted her head up to glare at him. A finger prodded her shoulder.

"You," he said. The word stuck in the air between their silence, until: "I don't know who you think you are, and really? I don't care. But I think your parents do. Or, at least, the one you have left." Eddie flinched. Jav grinned. "That _kynolykos_ was only the beginning. If anything, they won't just stop at you, but they'll go after your family, too."

Finn was on the verge of saying something, but his words were drowned out by Polanski and Eddie talking at the same time.

"We," Polanski began after a moment of silent hesitation, "won't stall. We'll come with you. Just — _Christ_ — stop?"

Eddie gave him an angry look. People who spoke over her and for her did not bode well in her likeness of anyone. But she did not argue, and shoved Jav's shoulder as she passed him to stand beside Polanski.

"If it'll keep our parents safe," she said, and dragged out her words as she thought of what to say. "But I've got a hell of a lot of questions that need answers."

Jav stepped back and lifted his arms in a careless shrug. "All right. That's fine."

Polanski hefted the blunt end of his sword on his shoulder. "Do I still get to keep this?"

"Sure," Finn said. "Congratulations, man. You've got yourself a bat."

"What?"

And it was true. What had once been the sickle-edged sword was now a regular aluminum baseball bat, looking harmless to what it had once been. Eddie took it from his hand and twirled it at its handle.

"You can probably hammer in some nails," she said, and then took a swing with it. Polanski took a step back. "You can wrap some barbed wire around the top. Call it Lucille."

"Ha-ha." He grabbed it from her and tossed it aside. "How 'bout _no_."

"Cattle-crusher."

"Guys," Finn said, getting their attention. "We don't have time to waste. If you guys want to go, we gotta go now."

"Fine," Eddie said.

Jav and Finn looked relieved. Close by, Finn's white car was parked in the visitor lot, between a blue Mustang and an empty space. The car's back lights blinked orange, an indication that it was unlocked.

Polanski blew out a breath "This is gonna be fun," he said, low enough for only Eddie to hear.

"Or a complete disaster," she retorted, her eyes narrowed.

"Do you remember what Amery told me when I first visited your place?"

Eddie did remember. In fact, she'd been present during Polanski's reading as her step-mother prophesied his future. The Six of Swords had been his card, a card deemed for change, for abandonment, for retreat. While it did not tell him how far to run, it did specify a needed shift in a situation. What had happened in the new gym was a major shift. This was the time to run.

It also circled back to Eddie's own reading, what her step-mother had told her that morning and the one she'd given herself just hours before: _change_. Somewhere, something, someone had decided that things were going to get shaken up in her life.

"Yeah."

As Jav took the driver's seat and Finn slid into the passenger's, police sirens began wailing in the distance. Eddie and Polanski climbed into the back and shut the doors. Rubber protested as Jav hauled on the wheel, turning out of the visitor parking lot and making it onto High Street.

Finn brushed his jacket and golden specks dusted off.

Jav turned the radio on to a station that played the Killers and merged onto I-80 West, following it all the way to Appian Way.

The scent of incense filled the air as music became the arcane words of spoken, whispered breaths. The circle was cast with the ghost-like luminescence of foresight and forgotten bows. Feeling the sacredness of the moment, Finn closed his eyes, and tilted his head back against the headrest as the vibration and momentum of the car lulled him into a euphoric sleep. He could feel something pull at the back of his mind, a dull ache that prodded against his eyelids, behind his eyes, beyond his consciousness.

 _I walk with Her into the Gates of Death_ , the voice whispered in his ear. _Life can be found in the unexpected shadows of the desolate landscape…_

 _I am Pasiphaë._

 _Fear me._


	6. 06

Acacia sat down at the base of the staircase outside of 237 Walsh Street. A pair of steel crutches were leaned upside-down against the ground-most baluster, a little trick she'd picked up so they wouldn't fall over and out of her reach. She stretched out her legs and, extending her hands above her head, leaned forward and proceeded to try and touch the tops of her sneakers with the tips of her fingers. She did, felt a wang of pain in the side of her thigh, and quickly sat back.

At every chance she got, Acacia tried for a quick leg stretch, always out of sight and never in public. She'd been cooped up in Auburn for nearly a year now, and it wasn't until several hours ago did she finally detect, not one, but _two_ potential half-bloods. One had smelled richly of the sweet and musky aroma of citrus and pine, while the other had reeked of the acrid smell of stale gunpowder.

Acacia heard it before she saw it. A silver Mercedes S600 pulled into the carport, engine humming. It was a beast of one hundred thousand pounds of German engineering, the type of car that sneered at speed limits. Acacia squinted her eyes and held up a hand against the harsh glare of the headlights the driver insisted keeping on. When they were turned off finally, bright spotted colors blinded her vision, distorting it temporarily.

She heard the sound of a car door open and slam closed, heard the jingling of keys and the scruff of shoes against paved gravel.

"S'cues me," a man said, and stepped around Acacia to get upstairs.

Acacia rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Are you David Polanski's step-father?" She grabbed her crutches and turned them right-side up, gripping onto the handles to hoist herself to stand up.

Acacia turned around and saw that the man had stopped, and was now looking down on her. The florescent lamp above draped his face in a winter-wash of gray, shadowing his expression into that of something somber. The chirping and thwacking sound of insects was something that filled the evening's silence between them.

It was interrupted when the man raised a single almost-nonexistent eyebrow and asked, "Who wants to know?"

"My name is Acacia Matthews," she told him, half honest. "I came on behalf of your step-son's liberation."

The man's eyebrow quirked up the slightest bit further. "On behalf of David's _liberation_?" He scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well…" Acacia fiddled with the frayed hem of her jean jacket, pondering how she would explain such a thing, and so when she finally did speak, it was slow and processing. "Your step-son will not be coming home tonight, sir. I believe that he may be a talented, uh, _person_ , with adequate skills. I promise that he is safe."

The man stuck his hands into the front pockets of his khakis, too beefy to slip in all the way but enough to make himself appear attentive. He cocked his chin up and told Acacia, "Why are you here?"

She seemed confused, so he elaborated for himself. "Look, it's nice and all, but you don't need to tell me about what you _think_ you know about him. Quite frankly, I really don't give a damn about the kid. If he wants to run off and be with his — his little junkie friends? By all means, let him. But let him know this —" He dropped down a few steps, standing a couple feet away from Acacia, and when he leaned forward, his belly folded over the top of his slacks. "You tell that miserable brat that he's not allowed back, you hear me? After everything he's pulled, he ain't allowed to stay here anymore."

Acacia was silent, wide-eyed. Ever since she had applied for the position of Protector through the Council of Cloven Elders, she understood the consequences that came with it, understood the emotional strain it left. Acacia knew that certain demigods were not prone to well-established domestic lifestyles. And it always made her sympathetic toward the campers who stayed year-long, who either didn't have homes to go back to or didn't have families who would accept them, and so a home wasn't an option.

"I do not like you, sir," Acacia said.

The man furrowed his eyebrows and made his lips into a thinly-shaped O. He said, "That's not—" but never finished his sentence.

From a little leather pouch that she'd tied to her hip by the belt loop of her baggy jeans, Acacia took out a pinch's worth of ground poppy seeds and blew them in David Polanski's step-father's face.

The man flinched back, his face twisting up into a sour expression. He wiped at his face and demanded what she'd blown in his face. He told her that he would sue her, that he would call the police and have her arrested for threatening him. One large, immaculately large and beefy hand clamped down on Acacia's shoulder. Her crutch juddered, but she gripped the hand-piece and stood rigid enough to break the sudden weight.

In Ancient Greek, Acacia said, " _Húpnos_." Sleep.

The man crumbled, landing awkwardly against the wooden steps. His breathing came out slow and even. Eventually, he began to snore.

Acacia huffed. She tightened her grip on her crutches and turned her back, maneuvering around the S600 and headed southeast toward Agnes Street. She turned right onto High Street and hobbled down the sidewalk, past all the little shopping areas that made up the majority of Auburn's downtown. She walked until she came upon a white two-story real-estate building that sported tawny orange framing and awnings, and turned right onto E. Placer and then left onto Almond Street.

Auburn Heights was located on the cusp-edge of downtown, just a street over from the Auburn Endurance Capital of the World monument. It was a four-decker obelisk made entirely out of brick, each side showing brass plaques that were dedicated to the Endurance Capital Committee, which had been known for establishing outdoor activities that took place in and around Auburn, promoting Auburn as a destination point for athletes and its healthier lifestyle, and assisting the economic well-being of Auburn. The city had a history of being home to some of the most challenging and significant endurance events in the United States, which included the vast network of roads and trails. It had been something Acacia never found interest in, but the work she did required a punctilious background check.

Acacia stood outside of apartment number 20-B. The arm pads of her crutches pressed uncomfortably into her sides below her underarms. Two guardians — possibly three, if they had a step-parent. This wasn't something she was expected to be doing. If anything, Acacia was supposed to have been the one to take David and Eddie, to protect them. Finnick and Javael were only scheduled to come as an emergency. At least, that had been what Acacia requested. She'd been adamant upon her title as Protector, but once she'd smelt the miasma of sulfur of a _kynolykos_ (often called _crocottas_ if not spoken to directly), she'd panicked and Iris messaged Chiron for backup.

There were two voices on the other side of the door. One male, the other female. Both arguing, voices extending past the walls, as loud as any TV show. John Rhys, the father. Amery Collins, the step-mother. The arguing had a dull exhaustion to it, something Acacia recognized as being over the same bittersweet topic too many times before. The same words passed by like ammo: "Eddie" and "police" and "terrible" and "disrespectful" and "grounded." There was no given logic to the argument.

Acacia knocked on the door.

There was a shock of sudden silence.

Hushed whispers began, shushing one another, asking questions, having faith in the far-fetched idea that Acacia was Eddie.

The door opened. John and Amery looked hopeful, although weary.

Acacia said, "Hi," and John's expression fell.

"Oh, God," he said. Amery still had her purse slung over her shoulder, and she knotted a hand around its strap, needing something to hold onto.

Acacia was invited inside and offered a cup of herbal tea. She accepted, and took a seat on the couch in the living room, her crutches leaning against the edge. Chamomile with honey and a squirt of lemon was handed to her in a ceramic mug by the step-mother. Two thick bits of darkish bread smeared with jam on a little floral-patterned plate was placed in front of her on the coffee table. Acacia had an intolerance to gluten, but remained silent about it. Hopefully she could drink her given tea slowly and tell Eddie Rhys' father and step-mother what was going on without having to show any suspicions toward their meaningful hospitality.

Amery sat in an intricately-handwoven black wicker chair at one end of the couch, the backrest resembling that of a peacock's tail-feathers. John sat in an armchair, a shawl with embroidered golden elephants on it was draped over the back.

In the living room, Acacia looked around with clinical interest. Her gaze passed over the candles, the potted plants, the incense burners, the lace curtains, the many Wiccan knick-knacks that cluttered the many shelves, and finally landed on a coffin-shaped cubby that was crowded with even more candles and incense burners, along with little antique jars and bottles that were filled with a number of many things Acacia had witnessed the children of Hecate uphold.

Acacia took a sip of tea and smiled over the rim of the mug. She realized now why she hadn't been able to smell neither half-blood, and although the _kynolykos_ still found them, they were at least safe for the time being.

John spoke first, his voice uncertain, asking, "Are you… Acacia?"

Acacia replied with a curt, "Yes, sir."

Amery gave him a look of confusion, and so he clarified Acacia's identity and the reason for her presence to her. As he spoke, his expression became enervated, because it began to cross his mind that it was Acacia being there that he understood why the absence of his daughter was relevant. And so he welcomed her to relieve herself if she'd wished to.

Confused, Acacia said, "What?" before realizing what he'd meant.

Relieve herself of her identity. Of her _false_ identity.

And so she did, because it was nice to let go once in a while.

She toed her sneakers off. Amery looked down and inhaled a sharp "Oh." John sat back and seemed a little more relaxed than he was before. Acacia's feet were not feet, but dainty hooves.

"Is Eddie safe?" John asked, for the first time, but the way he said it made it seem as though he'd been asking all his life.

"Yes," Acacia said. She took another sip of the tea, but did not touch the bread.

Amery seemed to notice this, but did not comment. Instead, she said, "So, you're a satyr then? And you protect — I'm sorry, what did you call them?" The last part was directed toward her husband.

"I am," Acacia said. "Although, specifically, I'm a satyr _ess_. A female satyr." She gave a small cough, something to clear her throat with. "But Acacia is fine."

"Thank you," John said, and then turned his attention to his wife. "Half-bloods. Demigods. They're two of the same. Half god and half mortal, usually."

Amery leaned back, looking as if her world had just been tipped on his edge, that the sky was her reality and it was beginning to fall apart. "And so these _demigods_ — they're taken to a certain camp? For training?"

Acacia nodded her head. "In New York, there's a camp for the descendants of the Greek gods. In San Francisco, there's one for the Roman." She shrugged. "Ever since August, both camps have been in a sort of alliance with each other, so campers have been traveling between the two. Right now, your daughter is heading toward the Roman camp —"

"Is she a Roman demigod?" John asked.

Acacia was hesitant. "I'm not sure," she said, her words as honest as she was. "Usually, I'm — our kind — are able to smell out the difference. Your daughter seems… a lot more pungent than how demigods usually smell. It could be because of you." At the mention of _you_ , she turned to Amery.

Amery took a little offense to that. "Me?" she said, gesturing to herself. "Why me?"

"Well, not _you_ specifically," Acacia said, hoping to reassure her, "but what you _do_. You're a psychic, yeah?"

She hesitantly nodded. "I am."

"And do you bless Eddie? For protection?"

"Her mother would have wanted me to, so yes. I do so often. We do rituals, not blessings."

Acacia blinked, thinking that she might have misheard. "Mother?"

Amery looked to John, who in turn looked to Acacia and acquiesced to the notion: "Eddie's mother — she was already pregnant when we married. Personally, I wasn't bothered. It just meant I had a lot less work to do." He laughed, a stuttered chuckle that had Amery giving him a pointed look and Acacia awkwardly fumbling with her fingers. "Oh," he chortled. "I'm sorry. At any rate, we got divorced in oh-four when Eddie was twelve."

Acacia scratched the back of her head. "This makes things a bit complicated."

"How so?" Amery asked.

"Well, she believes she has two mortal parents. Her father—" She gestured an open palm at John. "And her mother."

John cocked his head. "I'm not Eddie's father. Well, not her _real_ father. But if she's a demigod, then maybe that's there the pregnancy comes in."

Acacia said, "Maybe," and finished off her tea. "But with whether or not she's Roman or Greek, it's hard to tell. She and another one — they both exhibited unusual scents, but they both smelt like _demigod_ , so it shouldn't be too worrying. I mean, they are going to one of the safest places for their kind."

Amery pinched the bridge of her nose. " _Their kind_. That seems a little… inhumane, doesn't it?"

"Not inhumane, but kind of dehumanizing. Humans, sure, but they aren't mortal. Not really. Homer and Hesiod described demigods as being those who demonstrated strength, power, and good behavior. If anything, they weren't deemed heroes until after their death. Only then were they called _hemitheoi_ — half gods." Acacia placed the empty mug on the coffee table, and it was then did she notice a small stack of cards. Playing cards, she told herself, and sat back.

John exhaled through his nose. "And she smelled a certain way was because of my wife?"

"Both of them," she said. "I'm assuming your previous wife — Eddie's birth-mother — she also worked as a psychic?"

"That's right," he said.

"Then that's the reason she was difficult to pin out. Usually the presence of certain mortals covers up a demigod's scent. In this case, it was her birth-mother and you, Miss. What really matters is that she's safe."

John looked uncertain. "She wasn't safe here? If Amery and I were — as you say — masking her scent, then she should be fine."

"That would be true," Acacia said, and took a small breath, "but earlier tonight, there was an attack at Kingsmen High School. A _crocotta_. Two deaths, but neither were Eddie or the other one."

In a low voice, Amery said, "Oh, God!" But it was spoken in the same way one would whisper, _Oh man!_

John tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. "This isn't happening," he said, more to himself than to Acacia or Amery. "I didn't think… Why now? Why is she being taken to that camp now? Why wasn't I told of this sooner? And Susanna — did she know?"

Acacia held her hands up and stumbled out a, "I don't know." Because she truly did not. She hadn't even known Eddie _had_ a mother — the mother who'd given birth to her, for that matter. It had been stated in her file, the file Lau'ese had given her to give to Jav and Finn, that John Rhys was her true biological father, and although a birth certificate wasn't given, Acacia had assumed because of the surname they shared: Rhys. She also didn't know why the _crocotta_ had attacked tonight, at the particular time it had, or why it had taken the form of one of the students.

Acacia glanced over at the Tavern Clock that hung above a wooden table that was cluttered with an assortment of candle holders, gemstones, incense burners, and a deck of cards. The time read 8:27 and she knew that she'd overspent her welcome.

She began to stand. "I think," she said, "that it's time for me to go." She slipped her hooves into the molds of her sneakers, so they fit snug and wouldn't slip off, and grabbed her crutches.

John and Amery stood as well.

"Will you tell us what happens?" John asked. "If anything happens to Eddie?"

"If she really is safe," Amery started to say, but she shook her head. "Please, do."

"I will," Acacia told them. "As soon as I can get in touch with the two demigods who're escorting them to the Roman camp, I will let you know. But, it'll take some time."

Amery bowed her head. "That's fine," she said, and gave her a wavering smile.

John said, "You're welcome here any time."

"Thank you." Acacia fingered the pouch at her hip.

They led her to the front door and wished her well, told her to get in contact with them as soon as she heard from the two demigods. She waved a good-bye and made her way toward the staircase. Hearing the door to tenant 20-B close, Acacia stopped at a landing midway between the ground and the second floor.

She looked south down Almond Street, the direction she knew Kingsmen High School was locate at. Acacia hoped, with what attention the new gym's incident had acquired, that Lau'ese would still be willing to meet with her.

Acacia sucked in a breath through her nose and exhaled from her mouth. Her nerves were jumbled, but she decided that it was within her best effort to press on and worry about anything other than the safety of those demigods and the prophecy that had been apparent.

Lau'ese would be waiting for her, and so she took to the backstreets.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Everyone's been so endearing! I thank you all for your reviews and your support. It means a lot to me, really.**


	7. 07

**Author's Note:**

 **Hey :) Just a reminder, I re-wrote the ending to chapter 5. GiraffesGIRAFFES gave me some great advice, so thank you.**

* * *

Javael Evens let his cigarette burn. The acrid smoke reminded him of the _kynolykos_ back at Kingsmen High School, a sixty-mile drive behind them now. If he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of blood and sulphur. It was revolting, but he took another drag and felt his chest contracted, his lungs protest, and it sent a sick shudder down his spine. The jolt went all the way to his fingertips. He flicked the cigarette to ash it out the window.

Finn was slumped low in the passenger seat, his head tucked between the plastic setting of the window frame and the headrest. His jacket was draped over himself in place of a blanket. He'd fallen asleep nearly twenty miles back when they'd stopped on the outskirts of the east side of Sacramento to fill the gas tank.

Jav turned off of the freeway, taking Exit 498, and merged onto Twin Cities Road. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Polanski and Eddie were out cold.

And then the passenger seat jolted, jerking forward. Finn woke, his misty green eyes blinking open. There was a movement in the back. Either one or the other was awake or they both were. The rearview mirror deducted the suspect that of both.

Eddie and Polanski maneuvered themselves in a slow, lethargic-like gesticulation of arms and legs and bodies. Eddie opened her eyes and found Jav's gaze in the rearview mirror. Either she was too groggy to make the connection that they were staring at each other or too tired to have cared. She lolled her head to the side, bumping it against the window, and stared out at all that was Sacramento County, which wasn't much but acres of dried, dead grass fields.

Polanski hunched forward and rested his head in the palm of his hand. He seemed tired.

At that moment, he remembered that he was supposed to be smoking, but the cigarette had already burnt down to the filter. He flicked it out the window and rolled it up.

"Are you smoking?" Finn asked. He sat himself up and stretched his arms out in front of him, his fingers brushing the top of the dashboard.

Jav shrugged, despite the gesture going unseen. "Not anymore. Why? Did you want one?"

"Only if you were still smoking."

"Oh, tough luck."

"I'll take one." This voice belonged to neither of them, but instead came from behind the driver's seat. Polanski sat up, his head tilted back against the headrest.

Beside him, Eddie garbled out a, "Me, too."

"Jesus," Jav breathed out loud. "They're in the — yeah, thanks." Finn opened the glove box and felt around before taking out a pack of Camel Crunch. "You guys are gonna have to share. I'm not handing you over to Reyna high. She'd _kill_ me."

Finn plucked out a cigarette and handed it to Polanski, who raised an eyebrow at him.

Eddie said, "I got it," and reached into the collar of her shirt. It was from a sports bra she wore that she produced a little gray lighter, decorated in variety of stickers. Jav saw the top-most one that read _Lavender Menace_.

Polanski put the cigarette between his lips as Eddie flicked a flame and lit the end. From there, they took turns passing it between them. By the time Jav drove over Snodgrass Slough, a stream that ran perpendicular to the SR 104 they were on, and made a left at a dilapidated farmhouse, the cigarette was just a simple butt. It was thrown out the back window and swallowed up by the night.

Polanski asked, "Where are we?"

A response wasn't given. Jav kept his eyes on the road as Finn pulled something out of the passenger door pocket. Two somethings. He extended his arm over his headrest and dangled two cellphones in front of Eddie. She grabbed them from him without so much of a _thank you_ , and handed Polanski his.

"They're dead," she observed. When she pressed the power button down, the phone wouldn't turn on. The same thing happened to Polanski's when he tried.

"For good measure," Finn said. "I'm surprised you guys weren't attacked sooner. Phones are usually a no-go for us. They're like — something like a hotspot for monsters. Without all the Wi-Fi, of course."

"Phones?" Polanski said, raising a brow.

Eddie carelessly tossed her phone beside her. "Bullshit."

Jav scoffed. "You and me both. But it's the truth."

"Then how come you're using one right now?" Polanski caught Jav's gaze in the rearview mirror and the cellphone that was hooked up on a stand ontop of the dashboard.

Jav shrugged. "Because Finn's crap at navigating —"

"It's true," Finn agreed with a grin.

"— and I'm crap at navigating —"

"Also true."

"— so Clarke helped us out by making a… what did he call it?"

"I don't know." Finn gave a careless shrug. "But the important this is it doesn't attract monsters. Celestial bronze platting. Plus, Lou Ellen enchanted it."

Eddie leaned herself forward, her elbows resting on top of her thighs. "I'm gonna be nosy," she said. "Whose Clarke? Whose Lou Elle?"

"Lou _Ellen_ ," Finn corrected. "She's a daughter of Hecate."

Eddie sat up a little straighter. "So, she's like a psychic?"

"What? I don't know. But she deals with magic, so I guess."

Eddie rolled her eyes and sat back. "What about Clarke?"

"Son of Hephaestus," Finn answered. "Nice kid. Real smart, too. He, Nyssa, Harley, and a few Athena kids are working on making monster-proof phones. Something we can use in the future outside of camp."

Polanski crossed his arms over his chest and sniffed. "You're gonna have to explain to us just what the fuck you're talking about. Daughter of _Hecate_? _Athena_ kids? _Camp_? Where are we going, anyway?"

Silence filled the car. It was this silence, the fertile silence of awareness, that pastured the soul, that allowed new thoughts to emerge. But it was also the baffled silence, where words were pricked at the end of tongues, ready but not given.

Outside, the lingering light had obliterated long ago by the falling night. The once salmon and purple sky transformed into a vast expanse of jet-black that engulfed everything in its touch. The only thing that cut through the darkness was the car's headlights as it passed a stretch of trees and came to an opening of a town that had gone to rack and ruin, a Bumfuck Egypt out in the middle of nowhere. They crossed another truss bridge over the Sacramento River and took a left. The blue moon illuminated the tenebrous, starless sky, as if the stars ensconced themselves behind the dim, gray clouds.

Fin said, "Wait."

Polanski yelled, "Hey!"

Eddie yelled, "Watch out!"

Jav exclaimed, " _Stercus_!" and slammed on the brakes. Bodies went forward, catching against the seat belts. Finn pawed for the safety handle and gripped it with white knuckles. Jav tried for hauling the wheel left, which tipped everyone right, and did nothing but cause the car to skid to the side.

Blocking the road was not one, two, or three, but a dozen large-bodied deer. Their antlers were a tangle of spidery branches, some single and some paired. They were herded together, lifting their heads in dubious interest, their eyes glinting from the car's headlights.

Jav made an exaggerated gesture with his hand. " _Bos stupri_ — what the fuck?"

"What? What's going on?" Finn hooked the strap of the seat belt under his arm and sat up. "All I feel is the diesel engine. Why'd you almost crash us?"

"Because of that." Eddie pointed out the back window Polanski sat by.

Finn raised an eyebrow. He turned his head toward Jav, but did not speak to him, did not look at him, because his general attention was toward the voice behind him. He said, "'Cause of what?"

"That," she repeated.

"What?"

She looked at him. "What are you —"

" _Blind_?" interrupted Finn, stressing the word. "Didn't we already have this conversation?"

Polanski lowered Eddie's hand. "She's sorry."

"Guys." Jav unbuckled himself. "Finn, did you bring the flashlight?"

"Yeah." Finn opened the glove box and pulled it out, handing it to Jav. "What's out there?"

"Deer," Polanski said. "They're huge."

Eddie squinted her eyes. "Are they?" When Jav opened his door, she asked him, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He clicked a button on the driver's door and the trunk clunked open. "I'm gonna get these _achlis_ out of the way so we can get through."

"What'd you pop the trunk for?"

"Are you always this nosy?" He disappeared to the back of the car and lifted the trunk up. After a moment, he slammed it closed and came back to the driver's side, poking his head in. He waved two glass jars at Eddie, the green liquid sloshing inside of it. "They hate fire. I'm gonna light these."

Finn popped his neck. " _Achlis_? They don't sound dangerous."

"They're not," Jav said. "They're just lazy. I'm just gonna scare them." He turned his attention back to Eddie. "Can I borrow your lighter?"

"Only if you say _pretty please_."

"With a cherry on top?"

She tossed him her lighter. " _Borrow_."

Jav caught it with his other hand. "That's why I _asked_."

He turned around and clicked on the flashlight, and started walking toward the _achlis_. As he crept forward, careful of his footwork to not make so much noise, a few raised tilted their heads at him while others ignored him to graze the dying grass at the edge of the road. They maneuvered themselves backward as they ate, their upper lip too large, so it grazed the ground as they went about.

Jav clicked the flashlight off when he stood in front of the herd on the left side of the road. He held it between his legs as he juggled trying to flick the lighter on and holding both jars of Greek fire in one hand. Miraculously, he managed, and lit one jar.

A few _achlis_ veered back, huffing out from their nostrils and pawing at the ground with their hooves. Jav threw the lit jar to the side of the road, where a couple of _achlis_ were grazing.

He hadn't meant to hit any of them, but the jar broke and shattered, spilling out sickly green flames, which caught fire to one creature's cloven foot. He bounded up on its hind legs and then fell over on its side. _Achlis_ were known to possess no joints in their back legs, which forced them to sleep standing up or leaning against anything (a tree, a building, Dwight Wilson's tractor, etc…).

Jav felt bad, but he wasn't remorseful. He needed to clear the path in order for the four of them to reach Orinda before either Blake decided to call again or, even worse, Reyna got in touch with them. Yes, Finn and he were running behind schedule. Two days behind schedule. But it hadn't been his fault that the _kynolykos_ happened to also be Polanski and Eddie's friend. If he'd known, he and Finn wouldn't have killed him in front of them — sort of.

He lit the other jar of Greek fire and jogged to the other end of the road. He smashed it down on the ground, which erupted the entire right flank of undergrowth on the side of the road. The _achlis_ reared back, making loud, strangled squealing noises. They sounded almost like the Nazgûl from J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-earth legendarium. It had Jav stumbling back and rushing back to the car.

Once he was inside, slamming the door closed, he was bombarded with a plethora of questions — _What happened?_ and _What's that green fire stuff?_ and _Why're they screaming like that?_ and _Where's my lighter?_ seemed to have been the most popular.

Jav didn't answer. He put the car in reverse and made an impressive spin as he backed out, then pushed the gearstick to drive and floored the gas pedal. He honked the horn and the herd of _achlis_ reluctantly split. He sped out along CA-160, following the Sacramento River until it branched off into the San Joaquin River of upper Frans Tract SRA.

It wasn't until they'd passed over the Antioch Bridge, watching as the harbor came into view, did Polanski and Eddie start bombarding Jav and Finn with questions.

"Where are we going?" Polanski asked. "We've been driving for — what? Two hours?" He leaned over toward Eddie to read a passing sign. "Why are we in Antioch Oakley?"

"Also," Eddie chimed in, "what did you do back there? How can you just ignore Smokey the Bear like that? You make me sick. Do you still have my lighter?"

"Okay!" Jav said, raising his voice. He exited onto Wilbur Ave. and continued south, merging back on 160. He waved his hand at Finn. "Finn, why don't you — just tell them. I don't care. The more they know, they better off they are with Blake and Reyna." After a moment, he tossed Eddie's lighter back to her without taking his eyes off the road.

"Alright," Finn said, "but you're doing dishes _and_ cleaning the stables."

"What? No."

" _What_? Yes."

" _Podex perfectus es_ …" Jav sighed. "Fine, yeah. Deal. On one condition."

Finn blew out an exasperated breath. "Yeah? What?"

"You have to verse Chris on a one-on-one during practice tomorrow."

Finn looked at Jav, his mouth screwed up. " _No_. I am _not_ fighting someone who was practically raised by Lupa."

Jan held up a hand. "No. Yeah. You're right. Reyna'd kill me if Chiron found out one his this campers died. We'd have another war on our hands."

"We've pretty much got our hands full with the Norsemen up in Maine. Have you heard?"

Eddie not-so-casually cleared her throat, cutting Finn and Jav from their conversation. She had her arms crossed and an annoyed look on her face.

Polanski looked between the two of them. "There's a war in Maine?"

Jav merged onto SR 4 as Finn turned in his seat to semi-face the back.

"Well," he said, "for starters, the gods are real. _Gods_ as in mythology. So, like, the Olympians in Greek and Roman. Egyptian, Norse, Hinduism, Chinese, and Tibetan, too. Those are just a few, though. There are probably hundreds more. Generally, we — the Roman and Greek — we follow where the influence is strongest. Right now, it's in America."

"Polytheism," Eddie said, and shrugged. "That seems fine. I mean, I know some groups still do that today. They have a few places in Frisco."

Polanski turned his head to her. "Does it?"

"Yeah. They're all 'round Haight-Ashbury."

"That may be so," Finn said, "but I'm not talking about the _worshipping_ of multiple gods. I'm saying that they exist. Physically. Like… like, if he wanted, Hermes could show up and ask you to find his staff. Or Zeus might lose his lightning bolt again and you'd have to go on a quest to find it. You might go through a cluster-fuck of meaningless shit, but you'll still get to meet Harmonia and give her back her necklace without so much as a _thank you_." He shrugged. "Stuff like that."

"So, you're saying that they exist," Polanski said. "Like, walk right up to them and talk to them, face to face? Shake their hand?"

"Yeah, something like that. Though, they prefer bowing and kneeling to hand-shaking."

"Huh." Eddie and he exchanged a look. "Duly noted."

"You don't have to believe me," Finn said. "I don't know if you guys are Greek or Roman or… whatever, but we're taking you to Camp Jupiter, so hopefully your parents can claim to then."

Polanski raised a brow. "Jupiter's Roman. What if we're Greek?"

Finn turned to look at Jav.

"Then you won't get claimed," Jav said. "Sixteen, by Ancient Roman standards, is considered adulthood. By then, your godly parent should claim you. If not, then you're placed in _probatio_ until you can prove yourself to your parent."

"What about the Greek one?" Eddie asked.

"Camp Half-Blood?" Finn turned back toward them. "By thirteen, you're supposed to be claimed. It's usually to sort you into your parental cabin. If you're not claimed, then you go to the Hermes cabin."

"Why Hermes? Why not Hestia?"

He shrugged. "God of travel. There's also an acceptance policy that any undetermined kid can stay in the cabin. Once they're claimed, they're out. Why not Hestia? She doesn't have a cabin at camp. She's a virginal goddess."

"I know that. But she's the goddess of the hearth, of _home_. If these demigods face anything like what happened to us at Kingsmen, then wouldn't it be better if they were surrounded by _home_ than _thieves_? I mean, how old are demigods usually?"

"The youngest we've ever got was six or seven."

Eddie looked at Polanski, her eyes wide and eyebrows arched.

Polanski seemed baffled. "That young?"

Finn nodded his head. "Yep. We have a rare few who've been at camp for nearly a decade. A majority of campers are teenagers, either just getting into high school or just getting out. We've got a few who're in college, but most don't make it to when they're adults."

"That's really fucking comforting," Eddie said. " _Real_ comforting. Thanks."

"You guys'll be fine," he said. "Just don't go taking any quests. Quest-less demigods are safe demigods."

"Not the Seven," Jav added in. "Defeating Gaia? Come on, man."

"Besides that."

"What about everything else?" Polanski glanced out the window, seeing nothing but the dark and the precarious city lights. "What about RC? He was a monster, right? What about you guys, or where we're going? You called it — what did you call it? Something Jupiter?"

"Camp Jupiter," Jav corrected. "It's the closest camp besides the Greek one in New York."

"RC, your friend —"

"He's not a friend," Eddie said.

"Right. Well, he was a monster. Specifically, he was a _crocotta_. There aren't any stories that feature them, but a few Greek philosophers have written about them. Even some Roman author mentioned it in one of his works. But, usually, it's linked to India or Ethiopia.

To be honest, I haven't really heard of one until Acacia contacted us. Apparently flash bombs and stabbing it work pretty well."

Eddie made a face between something of disgust and pity. Polanski leaned back and rubbed his forehead.

"So," he started to say, "RC was a monster. He was a, uh, _crocotta_?" Finn confirmed with a passive tilt of his head and a one-shoulder shrug. "I guess getting on the whole demigod topic; you guys are demigods?"

Jav sneered out a laugh. "Oh, wow. Really? Hah — yeah, we're demigods. Geez, you must be the son of Coalemus."

"Who?" asked Eddie.

"Well —"

"It's the latin name for Koalemos," Finn said. "He's the god of stupidity."

"Wow. Thanks." Polanski's voice was slick with sarcasm. Eddie's shoulders bobbed as she tried to suppress her laugh. Both Finn and Jav broke out in a fit of laughter. The car nearly rear-ended the vehicle in front it.

"Can you _not_ get us killed before we get there?" Finn said this to Jav before maneuvering himself to face in Polanski and Eddie's direction. To them, he said, "Son of Poseidon. Legacy of Apollo. Jav, here, is the son of Janus, the Roman god of being a complete indecisive asshole."

"Eh." Jav tilted his head back and forth. "He's not that bad."

"Say that to _Mekel_."

"Well, he says you're a jackass and that he's going to staple dead birds to your cabin if you talk about him like that again." Jav turned on the blinker and merged into the farthest lane, taking Exit 15A for CA-242 toward Concord.

"Whose Me-kell?" Polanski asked, looking between the two of them.

Jav shrugged. "You don't need to worry about that. What you should be worried about is that we'll be arriving in… in about half an hour."

His tone of voice initiated the fact that he did not want to discuss any further about Mekel. In his respect, Finn said nothing, and turned his head to look out the window. Polanski and Eddie followed suit, staring out their respected sides, looking up at the starless night and out yonder over the light-polluted cities.

They continued in silence down the freeway.

* * *

It was nearing half past nine when Jav entered through the fourth bore on the east side of the Caldecott Tunnel. The orange florescent lights that lined the wall casted an artificial glare that made the entire tunnel something mysterious, something strange, something that caused Jav to check the rearview mirror more times than necessary. There weren't many other vehicles on the road — a pickup truck several yards ahead, a trio of cars following up behind him in the next lane over, and a lone prime mover crawling along the inner-most lane.

Jav counted the annular vents that ran along the upper ceiling of the underpass as he drove on. Finn, Polanski, and Eddie had all fallen back asleep, slumped in their seats, shoulders hunched to accommodate the uncomfortableness of their bearings.

Once he counted nine vents, he turned on his blinker and signaled to turn left into the next lane. He switched on the hazard lights and pulled over into the emergency lane, parking the car just before the mouth of the eastward opening.

"Guys," he said, "we're here."

There was no response, only the sound of cars rushing by.

Jav unbuckled himself. Mekel told him to halt.

"Really?" He pushed the belt strap to the side.

 _Do you trust them?_ Mekel asked, his voice hovering by Jav's left ear.

"No," he said. "Stop talking. You're giving me a headache."

In his right ear, Mekel whispered, _They're bound by fate, you know. You can't undo that._

"Does it look like I'm trying to undo anything? Geez… Why can't you go bother someone else's conscious?"

 _Don't try to ignore it. You know, Macduff knows. Anyone who has any self-worth knows. That corocotta wasn't worth its death. If anything, they're simply a duo of false half-bloods. Maybe Saturn's son made a mistake._

"I'm sure if Chiron made a mistake, he would have contacted us by now. Or sooner."

Jav's face reflected back at him, the eyes hallow and dark, the form a green mist-like apparition. It sneered as Jav frowned, and said, _You've heard your father's warning. Are you really going to allow a son of Mars and a daughter of Trivia to debilitate your chance of victory?_

"Are you talking about that stupid prophecy Finn dreamt up?"

 _Is there any other?_

In the passenger seat, Finn adjusted himself, so his head lolled against the shoulder of the carseat.

Jav held his breath. To Mekel, he whispered, "Our job is to get them to New York. It isn't my concern what happens to them."

Finn opened his eyes.

 _It should be_ , Mekel said, and then vanished. Jav let a sigh slip past his lips.

Finn slowly sat up. "Who were you talking to?" He paused. "Was it Mekel?"

Jav shrugged a shoulder. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

"We're here, by the way."

"Here?" Finn turned his head toward him.

"Caldecott."

Finn's eyes went wide as he furrowed his eyebrows. "And you didn't wake us up?"

Jav rolled his eyes. "I am now. Let's just get them to Ryena. I just want to go to bed."

"Right behind you."

The two of them worked to wake Polanski and Eddie. When they were awake, seemingly groggy and sleepy-eyed, Finn told them of their location, that they were just outside of Camp Jupiter's boundaries. This seemed to keen their interest, and they scooted themselves out.

Finn held a flashlight in his hand and pointed it west, which lit up a strip of the concrete passage that led between the traffic guardrail and the freeway.

Jav rubbed his eye and pointed across the third bore. "Finn, can you — yeah, thanks." The flashlight was shown in the general direction he was pointing to. A cement wall jutted out from the hillside that separated between the direction of traffic. There, a metal door was shown. "The entrance to camp is there, in the middle of the, uh, tunnels. Underneath the overpass."

"Great," Eddie said, stepping forward. "Let's go."

A car whizzed by. Polanski had to grab her by the collar and pull her back so she wouldn't get hit.

"Oh," Finn said, sounding enervated. "Watch out. There's a car coming."

Eddie blew out a cross breath. "Yeah. _Thanks_."

His eyes lifted, looking out across the consecutive of lanes. "We have company."

He took something out of his back pocket, which extended out into a sort of alpenstock. Jav drew his katana halfway, its blade nearly invisible against the darkness. Polanski, in instinct, readied himself by bending his knees slightly and kept his hands balled into fists in front of his face. Eddie, on the other hand, moved to stand behind Jav and Finn.

From across the lane, something flashed.

And then a voice rang out, "Weapons down! Stupid!"

Jav let out a sigh of relief. He sheathed his sword. Finn gave one, hard tap with his alpenstock and it collapsed back again.

Eddie punched Polanski in the arm and called him a pussy.

He replied by clapping her on the back of the head, calling her a coward.

Jav told them to shut up. He then yelled, "Chris!"

The voice did not reply.

"We can cross," Finn said. He pointed the flashlight toward where the voice had come from, which wasn't much.

On the other side of the lane, an older boy stood at the edge of the center island. He was dressed in standard Roman armor, from the plumed helmet down to the metal greaves. At his side hung a _gladius_ in its scabbard.

Jav felt reassured to see him and his zebra-striped fohawk. They bumped knuckles. Finn regarded him with a nod.

"I was just about to get off shift," Chris said. "You caught me in time." He looked at Polanski and Eddie. "That them? They don't look like much."

Polanski screwed his mouth into a scowl. "Excuse you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked.

Chris blew out a whistle and looked at Jav. "Unfriendly much?"

"You have no idea."

"Hey," Finn said, "it's cold, guys. How about we get going? I'm sure Reyna and Blake are waiting."

"Right," Chris said. He turned around and made his way over to the metal door, and hauled it open.

Jav, Finn, Eddie, and Polanski hurried through. Chris pulled it closed behind him.


	8. 08

The maintenance tunnel was dimly lit, blackened with gritted dirt, and emitted a strangely clean petrichor smell to it, like the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. There was nothing around them but a crummy stone pathway. Electrical cables ran along the ground, nuzzled close to the walls. Warning signs hung from ceiling rafters. Rusted fuse boxes were bolted to the walls at every twenty to forty feet or so. The only light source was the ever-present lightbulbs in wire cages that hung down the center of the ceiling and the flashlight Finn had brought with him. Eddie realized that it was the same flashlight she'd seen him with on the night of RC's party.

Polanski quietly whistled to himself. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gym shorts. Eddie made it her best effort to match his pace. When that seemed like too much work, she instead reached out to tug at the back of his sweatshirt to get him to slow down. Which he did.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

"Tiny legs," she said. "Slow down."

He made a scornful sound in the back of his throat, but didn't speed up, and Eddie felt a little relieved. He resumed his humming.

Time became a restless thing. It became a feeling of something slipping, a sensation that was no longer solid. Down here, it was palpable. Down here, thoughts became useless and the conscious was an echo of nothing. To Eddie, it was not just time that was slipping, but distance. It was possible that the tunnel they were all traveling through was folding back in on itself and taking them to an entirely different location.

And then, as they went deeper into the hillside, the gravel floor changed into that of tiled mosaic, all pretty-like and intricately designed in peach and maroon and green and white. The wire-caged lights changed to Gothic-esque wrought iron sconces that burned but didn't smoke. Tunnel appeared more hallway than cavern. The petrichor smell became that of something stronger, something that Eddie recognized as patchouli or spiced wine.

Finn clicked the flashlight off.

Polanski stopped just a few feet ahead of where maintenance tunnel transitioned into _hella_ fancy maintenance tunnel. Eddie halted short of him, glancing back over her shoulder. It wasn't that she hadn't see the sudden change of the décor, but rather that she did and did not completely acknowledge it.

Polanski began with, "Holy…"

Finn, Jav, and Chris stopped ahead. The three of them looked back.

"Cool, yeah?" Jav said. "We had the old reed ones switched out for these guys. It gives it a whole new schtick to it, see."

"Oh, I _see_ it." Polanski narrowed his eyes and pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

Chris adjusted his sword's scabbard that didn't need adjusting. "We should get going. I don't want to keep Reyna waiting any longer."

"Right," Jav said, and let out a sigh through his nose. He shouted after Polanski and Eddie. "Come on, you guys. Five more minutes. Let's _go_."

Polanski gave a jaunty whistle while Eddie turned to scowl at Jav. It didn't do much but have him roll his eyes.

They continued onward.

Eventually, a sliver of blue light showed at what Eddie hoped was the end of the tunnel. But because she didn't have her glasses anymore, everything blurred into a factitious blur of browns and grays and blues, the torches giving off misty spheres of yellow light. She couldn't tell if it was the end or another entrance that would lead them to another tunnel.

"Where does this tunnel go?" Eddie asked.

Chris said, "New Rome," as Jav said, "Neverland."

It took a moment for Eddie to register what they'd said. _New Rome_. _Neverland_. One was truth. The other was just being a dick.

She ignored Jav's statement, but it was Polanski who spoke: "Rome?"

Jav turned around so he was walking backwards. "Why do you think it's called Camp _Jupiter_? We're a _Roman_ camp for _Roman_ half-bloods — the only thing you question is the name? Coalemus, I swear."

Polanski scoffed and lifted his arms, like he couldn't help himself. " _Sorry_. What's in — what — New Rome?"

"What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of Rome?" Chris asked. "The first thing."

Polanski glanced down at Eddie, who gave him a passive shrug, and looked back at Chris. He said, "Colosseum. Gladiators. Uh, those leaf head things —"

Eddie gave him a look that said something along the lines of: _Are you an idiot?_. "A laurel wreath?"

"Yeah, those. And the — what was it called? It was the s _enatus populus_ something-or-another."

" _Senatus Populus que Romanus_?"

Polanski narrowed his eyes at her. "How come you're failing history, but you know the Latin motto for the Roman Republic?"

Eddie shrugged. "I guess Mrs. Lau'ese was wrong about me not being able to read Latin."

"Or maybe that was the only thing you studied when we had that test last week."

"Yes," came Chris's voice, before Eddie could speak. "All of it. When you guys get to the _principia_ , Reyna will explain everything."

"What about Frank?" Jav asked. "I thought he and Reyna were working something out with the Twelfth Legion."

"They are," he said. "Not much to work on, really. Besides the Danes, we're all fine."

"Besides them? They're the whole reason that —"

"Oh, hey," Finn interjected. He pointed ahead. "We're here."

Eddie and Polanski looked at each other.

"Who're the Danes?" Polanski asked.

No one bothered to give an answer, because the sliver of blue light turned into an arched passageway that led to an opening on a rocky ledge.

Eddie and Polanski stopped just outside the egress of the tunnel.

"What the fuck?" This was Eddie, but Polanski said over her, "You've gotta be kiddin' me!"

Chris barked out a laugh.

Spread out below them, swallowed by the night's darkness and scattered with flickering lights, was a bowl-shaped valley too many miles wide. Eddie could barely make it out, but if she squinted hard enough, she could almost make out the mounds of hills and the stretch of blackness that bled into an inky mess far beyond sight. She imagined it being a forest or more hills. And then it was heard before seen: a river that swept somewhere below them.

At the center of the valley, at the source of the disarranged lighting, was something that looked like a small city. On the far right was something large and circular, and right beside it was a long oval-like building.

Eddie was standing at the center of a reality where she wasn't sure if she was dreaming or not.

"It looks pretty," Eddie said. "I mean, I can't see shit, but it still looks nice."

"Excuse me," Finn said, his voice strait-laced. "Whose the blind one here?"

"Myopia," she said, without prevarication. "I'm near-sighted."

"That's great. I'm _blind_."

"That's great. I _don't care_."

Polanski flicked the back of Eddie's ear. "She's sorry."

Finn turned his gaze away from them and looked out over the ridge. "I'm really starting to doubt that."

"Guys," Chris called. "Come on." He stood at the right of the ledge, as if he was about to step off and plummet to his death. And it was when he took a casual step forward did Eddie blurt out for him to stop.

He took a step forward, stopped, and glanced over his shoulder at her, confused. Everyone was looking at her, and her cheeks grew warm from embarrassment.

"Oh," she said, and realized that there were a set of stairs that were cut into the hillside. "Never mind."

Finn and Jav both gave equal looks of utter chagrin, as if to dispel Eddie's allegations of professional incompetence. They followed Chris down the set of stairs. Polanski glanced at Eddie. His expression asked, _Are you okay?_

She _was_ okay, but in the same way she'd been okay the night of RC's party. It was not that she was scared of the sudden change of décor back in the tunnel or the city of New Rome shown below them that resonated their new retreat, but she hadn't gotten out of bed in the morning expecting to be told that she was one thing compared to the other without so much as a pause to breathe.

If anything, Eddie felt restless and itchy. It was night, but she couldn't have felt more awake. She wasn't sure if Polanski felt the same, but with everything that had happened, she was certain that his perspective on reality had begun to tip just enough for him to realize that: yes, this was happening. Yes, they were beyond the point of no return. Yes, the gods existed. Yes, they were not normal; they were never supposedto have been normal. Yes, Finn was the son of Poseidon, god of the sea and earthquakes, storms and horses. Yes, Jav was the son of Janus, god of beginnings and endings, doorways and time. It was so very, painfully obvious and so very, painfully unobtrusive that it felt as if its creation, its existence was a huge slap in the face.

She didn't know how to handle it, and so she allowed herself to follow after Polanski down the steps. They climbed down after Finn and Jav and Chris. The stairway led into a curve along the hillside, sloping and then stopping abruptly at the base, just at the bank of the river. A few feet away a sort of bridge reached across to the other side, formed by large flat slabs of stone that were supported on granite piers.

A brick wall erected on the other side of the river, towering so high, Eddie had to crane her neck to look up at the very top. A gateway proceeded where a foot-rutted path led into two separate gated entries. Along both sides, a channel too quadrangular to have been considered natural, extended yonder and out of view. Torches followed its path, the same kind that had lined the walls back in the maintenance tunnel.

"Oh, no." Jav said it in a way that stood for equal part of discontent as it did toward its target.

There were three figures who stood within the right-most gateway. Three figures Eddie couldn't make out, and she was about to ask who they were, but decided against it. She'd meet them eventually, so it was only a waste of breath to start questioning anything now.

They crossed the bridge.

"I thought they'd be in the _principia_ ," Jav said. He attention was not directed toward anyone in particular, but Chris responded.

"They were when I left," he said. "I don't see Blake. What was she doing when you guys left?"

"Iris Messaging Madison about —" Jav made a vague gesture behind him, indicating the subject at hand: Polanski and Eddie. "It was an in-coming call about their profiles."

"We're right here, you know," Polanski said. "Right behind you. We aren't invisible."

He ignored him. "But if she isn't here with Reyna or Frank, then she's probably in the _palestrae_."

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense."

They came to stand before the three figures, and they took Eddie and Polanski by surprise. It wasn't their general appearance, but rather their age. They were young, teenagers, probably not even close to their twenties yet. There was one who stood between the other two; a girl with a head of black hair that she wore in a single braid over her left shoulder. Her eyes were dark and fierce, her mouth quirked into a scowl of sorts. Like the heavyset boy on her right, she wore what Eddie thought was a cheaply manufactured costume cape. It sparkled beneath the firelight above them. The two of them also shared the interest of steel _jewels_ , which hung over their right breast. However, the girl sported at least several times more than the boy did.

All three of them sported the following: purple tee-shirts with the letters S.P.Q.R. inside of a laurel wreath printed in gold across the chest, jeans and sneakers, sheathed weaponry at their hip. The boy had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung on his back. The other girl, who stood to the left, held an armful of rolled up papers.

"Jav, Finn," the girl in the middle said. Her voice and face indicated that she was not very pleased to see them, or if it was just their late timing she was upset with. "You were scheduled to arrive two days ago. I also explicitly said that I didn't want either of them injured." This was in subject to Eddie and Polanski's bruises they'd received from their run-in with RC a couple nights ago.

Jav opened his mouth, but it was Finn who spoke. "We were stalling. We wanted to know if they were the real deal. When Madison and Acacia gave us confirmation and their profiles, we wanted to wait a bit more for — well, for any potential monster that could have been lurking. There was one. We took care of it. Now we're here."

The girl turned on Polanski and Eddie for a corroboration to Finn's statement.

Polanski said, "It's true."

Eddie didn't say anything, allowing Polanski to speak for her.

The girl looked satisfied with the answer and rounded back on Finn and Jav. She said to them both, "Thank you. Both of you." She turned to Eddie and Polanski. "You can follow me to the _principia_." She then turned to the boy on her right. "Frank, go ahead with Hazel back to the barracks. I can handle it from here."

The boy — Frank — seemed unsure. "Are you sure? If you're tired, I can take over."

She held up a hand to dismiss his offer. "No need. The two of you have helped tremendously. It's getting late. This won't take long."

Frank rubbed at the back of his neck, but agreed. He and the other girl — Hazel — took one last look at Eddie and Polanski before turning around. They made it maybe twenty steps before Eddie lost interest in their departure and looked from Chris to Jav to Finn and then to the girl in the sparkly cape.

"Does this mean I'm off guard duty?" Chris asked.

The girl gave him a pointed look, but said, "Yes. I'll have someone take your place."

"Sweet." He left them, taking to unhinging something at his side and hooked the leather breastplate over his head. When he was behind the girl, he turned around to flip them off, and then turned back around to take a jog.

The girl turned back toward Eddie and Polanski. "Edwina Rhys and David Polanski?" She extended her hand. "My name is Reyna. Frank and I are praetors here at Camp Jupiter. Welcome."

Eddie stared down at her hand in front of her. Reyna mistook the refusal for something chary, but when she started to pull away, Eddie took it at the last second. Polanski gave their exchange a wary look, but otherwise stayed quiet.

"Eddie," she said, and gave Reyna a tight-lipped smile. "I go by Eddie."

"Eddie," Reyna repeated. They did not shake hands, keeping them clasped together.

Eddie thought their introduction was enough and so she slipped her hand free of Reyna's grasp.

Reyna turned to Polanski and followed through with the same gesture. He took her hand in his.

"Polanski," he said.

"Polanski," Reyna repeated, testing out the pronunciation of his name. It sounded foreign when she said it. She glanced over at Finn and Jav, then back at Eddie and Polanski, and said, "Follow me." With the swoosh of her cape, she turned around and made her way inside the fort.

Jav and Finn followed her inside. Polanski nudged Eddie's shoulder, prodding her forward. It was a succorless gesture. She swatted his hand away and walked forward, through the gate, and then stopped.

"I swear to fucking God," she said. It was meant for Polanski to hear, but Finn and Jav turned their heads to look back at them.

"They're harmless," Jav told her. "They're a lot less hostile since our alliance."

Their apparitions were no more than distortions of light. Humans cut out of colors that weren't right. Where they moved, the things behind it appeared bowed, as if looking through fish-eyed lens. Some were dressed as ancient soldiers, wearing the same sort of armor Chris had been wearing. Some draped themselves in togas and other loose garments. Some wore little to nothing to cover themselves. A number of them were men, namely those who were soldiers. But there were those who were women, and even a few who were children.

It was not the ghosts themselves that startled Eddie, but the aspect of their appearance. She knew that the paranormal could appear to anyone, regardless whether they were psychic or not. She'd been witness to a number of spirits while in the presence of her mother and step-mother's line of work, but she'd always seen them whole, fresh, looking as if they had never died.

These were not.

These ghosts appeared in the state of how they had died.

As their entourage walked down the cobbled path, Eddie saw a man dressed in Roman armor with half of his face shredded. The left side of his mouth was ripped open, showing rows of teeth. His eye was gone, a simple empty socket of nothing, and the upper half of his ear torn off. She saw another man whose right leg was missing from the knee down. A woman who crossed the road before them wore a silk, pleated gown from the waist down; she was headless. Two children blithely raced after each other, running right through Reyna, as one tried to grab at the back of the other's tunic. Eddie noticed that both of their right hands were cut off at the wrist.

The further they walked, the more Eddie noticed the difference in the ghosts. There were two kinds that struck her: the injured and the not. Those who were injured seemed to skirt around near the perimeter of the camp's walls. Those who were not loitered and roamed around certain buildings and spaces further in. Like the soldier she'd seen with the left side of his face torn apart, a trio of them stood outside of a porticos building polishing swords and shields and armor. They were uninjured and unarmed.

It was unsettling and completely out of Eddie and Polanski's realm of comfort.

Between every open-windowed kiosk stand that lined up along the road they walked on, sleek wooden torch posts burned smokeless fire. A number of the kiosks sold small, inexpensive consumables such as newspapers, magazines, lighters, street maps, cigarettes (a sign nailed to the kiosk's awning read _You Must Be 18 Years Old With Valid I.D._ ), and confections. A few others advertised food, armor, weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment, toga rentals, and Roman-themed souvenirs.

They came to the center of the camp, where four wide stone-paved roads met at a cross section. At the center, a wooden post with a number of signs labeled the road they'd just walked down as V _ia Praetoria_ and the gate they'd just walked through as _Porta Decumana_. The other road that crossed through the other one was labeled V _ia Principalis_ and its gate, the _Porta Praetoria_. Under those markers were hand-painted signs that read _Berkley_ , _5 miles_ ; _New Rome_ , _1 mile_ ; _Old Rome_ , _7, 280 miles_ ; _Hades_ , _2, 310 miles_ (an arrow pointed straight down at the ground); _Reno_ , _208 miles_ ; _Certain Death_ , _You Are Here!_ ; and _Welcome All!_

A chariot dealership on the other side of the crossing had an advertisement out front that read _Caesar XLS w/ Antilock Brakes, No Denarii Down!_

"This way," Reyna said, and turned left down _Via Principalis_.

Eddie looked right down _Via Principalis_. There were seven buildings — three on either side of the road and one at the very head. All of them had shady porches, where Eddie could see a few people sitting outside and laying out in hammocks. Five buildings had a different collection of banners out in front of them that displayed Roman numerals and various animals — I: eagle, II: bear, III: dog (or wolf), IV: horse, V: something that looked like a hamster. Another building, at the tail-end of IV, had a banner with a red cross on it. The seventh building looked like all the other ones, except this one had a banner that featured a sideways M and an upright T with a winged horse under it. Another sign perched on the railing of the porch read: _WELCOME, GREEKS_.

The left side was a lot more impressive. The same torch posts lined the road. A squat-roofed building housed a number of horses. When they passed it and Eddie had slowed down to peer inside one of the windows that had been raised open enough for her to peek her head in, she saw that the horses had single, straight horns protruding from their foreheads.

"What!" When she tried back tracking, she hit the back of her head against the window's edge. She eased herself out, but in her attempt, she'd startled a unicorn in the next stall over.

"Can you not try to break anything while we're here?" Polanski said. He came to her side and peered in through the window. "Oh, wow. Never mind. Are those unicorns? What the hell?"

Eddie rubbed the back of her head. "Ghosts. Unicorns. What — demigods? Pinch me, I must be dreaming." When Polanski looked back at her and reach a hand for her arm, she smacked his hand away. "Quit it."

"Guys." The voice belonged to Finn. "Move it."

"I want to get this over with," Jav said. "It's late. We're tired. Just hurry up."

Eddie and Polanski complied. Reyna had stopped on the other side of the stables, looking back at them. When they started walking, she turned back around and led the way.

At the very end of the road stood a grand building. It featured a rectangular vestibule enclosed within a pediment that was placed above the entablature, which was supported by eight large columns. The triangular area within the pediment was decorated with a relief sculpture of Romulus and Remus being suckled by the she-wolf Lupa. Hung over the two center columns was a huge purple banner with the gold letters S.P.Q.R. embroidered inside of a laurel wreath.

Eddie looked up, up, up. The building was huge, but the walls and two watch towers loomed above it. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it at any other time when she'd visited the Bay Area.

Four guards stood out front, two on either side. They were dressed in armor, but it was different from the kind Chris had been wearing. The body armor they wore consisted of broad metal strips that were fastened to leather straps, held together by brass hooks. Their upper bodies and shoulders were protected by shoulder guards and breast-plates. At their waist were sheathed swords. Two — one at each end — held poles that showed the same sort of banner as above.

Reyna held up a hand to the guards. They stood a little straighter, but didn't say anything as she passed by them. Finn and Jav followed her through the center columns, Eddie and Polanski right behind them.

Two groups of four columns separated the vestibule into three spaces. In the walls at the back of the portico, one of either side of the large open doors that were plated with gold, were niches that held two identical statues of a man in each. They were naked, as most Hellenistic sculptures were, saved for plume helmets, sandals, and some sort of garment that draped over their arms. The one of the left was labeled ROMVLVS and the other REMVS in original Latin scripture.

The vestibule linked the porch to the central area within. It was a round room that made Eddie feel subnormal and toylike. The dome above them featured sunken square panels with bronze stars at the center of each that seemed to have been evenly spaced out. At the very top was a circular opening. Circles and squares formed the unifying theme of the interior design, contrasting heavily with the checkerboard-patterned floor. It seemed as though each segment of the surrounding walls were subdivided according to different schemes. It caused the entirety of the place to look awe-droppingly disproportionate.

Niches in the wall held statues in their places. They were topped off with intricately designed porticos and raised alters with a number of offerings on them. Candles burned around the place, lighting everything in a forlorn under-lighting that caused the place to look five times more creepier and emptier than it probably was if it were day.

Eddie and Polanski craned their necks to look up at the coffered ceiling. Polanski was muttering something to himself. Eddie tried counting the individual squares. She got to twelve before the movement of Reyna sitting down behind a long wooden table distracted her. It was cluttered with rolled up papers, papers that were held open with little trinkets (a dagger was stabbed in at the end of one), notebooks, laptops, and a large glass bowl filled with jelly beans.

Jav took a handful from the bowl and gave half to Finn.

Two life-sized dog statues flanked either side of the table. One was silver and the other gold. Their heads were relatively long and their muzzles were elongated. Eddie didn't know what kind of dogs they were. Her first thought was that they were Doberman Pinschers, but she'd never been good at breed names and wasn't about to start.

In a low voice, Polanski said, "One-forty." He looked down at Eddie. "There're one hundred and forty squares in that dome."

"Jesus," she said. "Do you have anything better to do?"

"I could recount the time you —"

Eddie caught his forearm and squeezed until her knuckles were white. "No, thank you." She let him go.

"You two," Reyna said. She sounded exhausted. She probably was. It was too late for a couple of bickering teenagers. "How much do you know about this?" She made a lackadaisical gesture to her right, but she meant everything — the camp, its existence, what it stood for. Reyna glanced at Finn and Jav. "How much did they tell you?"

"The basics?" Polanski said, and gave Eddie a quick look, but she couldn't read his expression. He looked back at Reyna. "They told us that the gods exist. All gods of all mythologies, apparently. That the gods claim their children different here than at the other one —"

"Camp Half-Blood," Eddie confirmed.

"Camp Half-Blood," he said. "That demigods — like us? — don't live long enough. Monsters, I think, kill them."

"Sure," Eddie said. "Except we're not dead. Bruised, but not dead."

Reyna raised an eyebrow, a silent adjuration for a clarified answer. Eddie didn't give one and Polanski didn't bother to speak after that. It was Finn who told Reyna of RC, of how he was a _crocotta_ in disguise — a wolf in sheep's clothing. He told her about what he'd done at Kingsmen High. Jav cut in to add on to a few details. They told her a lot more than they'd needed to, including Polanski and Eddie's involvement with RC's cartel.

Polanski took offense, pointing a finger at them. "You have no right to any of that. What we'd done isn't for you to have known."

Eddie gave Finn and Jav a truculent look. "You make us sound so petty. It ain't a crime 'less you've been caught. Besides, marijuana's a plant, not a drug. We're florists, not drug dealers."

"That doesn't make a difference," Finn retorted, raising his voice. "You're still selling it. You could tone down your animosity."

"Right after you tone down your fucking —"

"Okay!" Reyna's voice rang, carrying much too loud. She looked to Finn and Jav. "Finnick. Javael. I'll talk to the two of you in the morning. It's late, I know. Please, go to bed."

They didn't need to be asked twice. Finn and Jav excused themselves out from where they'd all come in. Finn knocked shoulders with Eddie as he passed her. She knew well enough now that he could have dodged her completely.

Reyna looked at Eddie and Polanski with a weary eye. "It isn't any of my business what your life was before this point," she said, and her words took the edge off of the two of them. "But the main concern still comes to rise: RC, as you've mentioned. He was a _crocotta_?"

"That's what Jav called it," Polanski said. "It happened a few hours ago, anyway. Killed two kids."

For some reason unbeknown to her, Eddie couldn't have felt any more apathetic than she did when she thought about the two players RC had killed. Whether it was the premeditation of killing or the aspect of death, it wasn't something that should have normally fazed her, so she was surprised that the knot in her chest was irritation rather than sympathy. This was directed, not at the wrestlers' deaths, but at everyone for talking about RC and his ability to murder them.

Eddie wouldn't admit it, but she still couldn't believe he was what he had been. It had been a monster with RC's face, but she still saw him as the rich boy who threw substance parties for his own pleasure. If she thought hard enough, Eddie could still feel the ghost of his touch on the shell of her ear, smell the acrid stench of alcohol on his breath, and see the drug-hazed look in his eyes.

In his defense, Eddie changed topics. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk to us about besides what we already know?"

Reyna straightened her back and gave her a knowing look. "Where you will be situated until your departure to Camp Half-Blood."

"That doesn't sound very appeasing."

"Eddie," Polanski said. He looked at Reyna. "Is there some place we could go to clean up? We still have…" He didn't have to elaborate. Since RC's attack on them back at Kingsmen High, they still had the black sludge that had been his blood on their clothes.

Reyna held up a hand. "I wasn't finished," she said. "You two are new, and I'm not just referring to your arrival here at camp, but to everything that you've been introduced to — demigods, monsters. Our existence is pointless without recognition. So, here."

She looked down at all the stuff that cluttered the desk and picked up two leaflets. She reached out her hand for one of them to take them. Polanski volunteered and took them from her. He handed one to Eddie. The leaflet was a single sheet of paper that had been yellowed for its old and wrinkled appearance, that was printed on both sides and folded into thirds. The cover featured a purple box with a black border and two swords crossing at the top. The letters S.P.Q.R. inside of a laurel wreath separated texts. The top read: _WELCOME TO CAMP JUPITER_ and below it: _Your Home Away from Mortals & Monsters_. The bottom read: _A GUIDE FOR NEWCOMERS_. The very bottom read: _We train the best here in the West_.

Eddie unfolded the first page and looked at the back. In all caps, it read: _GREETINGS, NEW RECRUIT_. Below it, it gave a general debrief about training with other demigods, honing certain godly skills, how there were threats lurking outside of Camp Jupiter's borders, and that all legion members would be responsible for protecting the camp's security. Two signatures were signed at the bottom: Reyna's, a Jason, and Frank's. The rest of the leaflet was a simple rundown of food, housing, and activities. A photocopy of a hand-drawn map of Camp Jupiter was on the back with the rules and regulations, as well a list of do's and do-not's.

"You don't have to read all of it tonight," Reyna said, continuing where she'd left off, "but I encourage you to go through the rules and safety measures on the back. I don't need anyone losing a limb on the first day because they agitated Hannibal." Her voice was even and unflinching. Eddie guessed it had happened before and wondered if being here would be the complete opposite of their safekeeping.

Reyna continued, and said, "Like all other campers here, Greek including, the two of you will be put through mandatory training. That will start tomorrow, unless you leave before then. Since our alliance with the Greeks, all visitors have been situated in our guest housing. That is where you will be sleeping for tonight and every night while you are here.

Since we've been expecting your arrival, there is a room already fit out for the two of you. Clothes, bathroom essentials. It's all there for you. It's already past lights-out, so get some sleep. For your previous inquiry: yes." Eddie expected her to clarify _where_ they could get cleaned up, but it never came.

When Reyna stood, it was then did Eddie notice the detail on the underside of her left forearm. She thought it was a tattoo, but she wasn't sure what it was of. Reyna walked around the desk and settled a hand on the head of the silver hound. She scratched it behind the ears. The statue opened its mouth and nuzzled its nose against the palm of Reyna's hand.

"Jesus!" Eddie whispered. She pointed an accusing finger at the hound. "That wasn't alive before."

Polanski rubbed the bridge of his nose, skewing his glasses slightly. "Man, I'm too exhausted to care about this right now."

Reyna gave a hint of a smile. "Argentum," she said, and gestured in the general direction of the other dog. "Aurum. They're my greyhounds. They haven't moved. That's good. It means neither of you are lying."

"Fucking polygraphs?" It was the first thing that came out of her mouth and Eddie regretted it immediately.

The silver dog — Argentum — snarled at her, bringing back his metal lips to show a mouth full of razor-edged teeth. Its eyes were red gems, gleaming dangerously in the dim lighting of the _principia_. Reyna scratched the underside of Argentum's jaw to calm it down.

"Easy now," she told it, and it backed off. She looked at Eddie. "That mouth can get you in trouble. If you come to me like this again, we will have consequences." It sounded less like a warning and more like a promise, so Eddie reluctantly subsided. The last thing she needed was to make an enemy of the camp's leader on the first day.

Polanski thanked Reyna. He had to manually turn Eddie around and the they exited the _principia_ the same way they'd entered. The four guards still stood outside, but they ignored them in favor of looking at the map on the leaflets Reyna had given them.

"I saw something that had 'Welcome, Greeks' on it back at the cross," Eddie said. "That it?"

"Gotta be." Polanski folded his leaflet back up and tucked it away in his front pocket. "Get our clothes, shower, go to bed?"

"Yes, please."

Finding the sixth cohort, as Reyna had called it, was easy to find. Polanski and Eddie had followed _Via Principalis_ all the way back to the cross-shaped juncture where both roads met. The sixth cohort was at the right-most corner, just behind the kiosks, and housed exactly what it was advertising: Greeks demigods.

Because it was nighttime, it was relatively quiet. Polanski and Eddie stood at the base of the stairs that led up to the porch. They whispered to one another about how they were going to get inside without trying to wake anyone up. Polanski suggested they take their shoes off to muffle the sounds of their feet. Eddie thought the idea ludicrous and said that cutting off their own feet would do the trick just fine. Polanski insisted that they had to make a good first impression. Eddie refused to give anyone she didn't know the satisfaction of a civil right-hand, so she took first to bounding up the steps and opening the door. It was unlocked. The lights were off.

The sixth cohort opened up to a relatively large foyer, which split into two separate hallways and a doorless room. A staircase led up to an overhang balcony and the second floor. The ceiling was too high, so looking up became uncomfortable. On top of a long dresser table near the front door a few candles burned. There were framed photographs of people — kids and teenagers and young adults. The center room, from what Eddie could make out, was furnished with couches stocked with square pillows, and a coffee table full of clutter (from books to abandoned knives and unfinished glass drinks).

Eddie abandoned Polanski's side to investigate further and switched the light on. She found that it was a lounge. Two chairs and a couch took up most of the space, forming a sort of semicircle around an entertainment center. The TV was obscenely large, and Eddie couldn't wait to watch something on it. Posted above the TV on the wall was a list of channels and their scheduled times. The sports and news channels were furiously circled in red.

The rest of the walls were covered in photographs. Some of them looked official: team photos with nearly everyone sporting some sort of armor, snapshots of people in obnoxiously orange T-shirts, and pictures obviously stripped from newspapers. The majority of the pictures looked like they'd been taken by amateur photographers. They were scattered anywhere they could fit and held up by scotch tape. Taking up one entire corner was a clump of photos featuring unfamiliar and familiar faces.

Polanski gave a long whistle from behind Eddie. "Wow," he said. "It's like some fraternity bullshit."

Eddie tapped a face in the nearest photograph. "That's Finn. It doesn't look like he's here."

"What do you mean?" He came up to her side to get a look.

"It's like a nature reserve there. Here, it's like a city."

"Maybe that's the other camp. The one in New York."

Eddie inhaled through her nose and sighed out, "I guess."

The lights flickered. There was a _click click_ that indicated that it had been done manually. In the doorway of the room stood a girl dressed in an oversized tee-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Her long dark hair was a mess of bedhead and her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep. In contrast with her olive complexion, a light scar traced over the bridge of her nose.

She turned off the lights again and then turned them back on.

"I thought I was dreaming," she said. She rubbed her face and looked at them. "Blake said something about new recruits arriving. You guys Polanski and Rhys?"

Polanski said, "We are. Who are you?"

The girl stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Ivy Lee," she said. "Ivy's fine, though."

"You knew we were coming," Eddie said, more statement than question. "You can show us to our rooms."

"Room," Ivy corrected. "There are at least two to three people per suite. You guys are going to have to share."

"So the regulations are co-ed?" Polanski asked.

"More or less. Bathrooms are downstairs." Ivy lifted her left arm, indicating the hallway to the left of the foyer. "Men." She lifted her right arm for the hallway on the right. "Women. There are a few bathrooms upstairs for whoever, though. In case," she shrugged, "you don't conform to either or are uncomfortable. We don't tolerate transphobia."

"And we don't tolerate people who're transphobic," Eddie said. "We got it."

"Good." Ivy said it gently, with the hint of a smile on her face, but Eddie could hear the _or else_ in the tone of her voice. It was subtler, but somehow deadlier than any sort of warning there was.

Ivy said, "This way," and turned around. She flicked the light switch to _off_ as she left the room. Polanski and Eddie weren't far behind her. They climbed the set of stairs and took a left where a number of doors lined a hall that had at least two juncture entries. They walked all the way down it and turned right at the first hall. There were black plaques with white print on the doors that identified each room with numbers. The bathrooms were at every corner or so, their doors left open. A few nightlights were plugged into the sockets along the wall.

"The rooms are back-to-back," Ivy whispered. "That's why the layout is the way it is. There are more rooms than people, though, so it's always nice to have new people to fill them in, whether they're visiting from Camp Half-Blood or were just accepted into the legion." She pointed to an ajar door they passed. "That's my room. Feel free to drop by anytime."

"Thank you," Polanski told her.

She gave them a smile before turning left at the end of the hall and stopped in front of a closed door labeled 17. She opened the door and allowed Eddie and Polanski to walk through first.

The room itself wasn't very much. Two beds were bunked against the far wall and a third bed was raised chest-height against the other to fit shelving and dressers under it. There was only one closet, but hanging dividers hung off the empty pole. Two bare desks were pushed against the other side, office chairs already poised with them, each with their own lamp. A wastebasket were placed on either side. A ceiling fan hung at the center, still and dark. The floor was wood, much to Eddie's dislike. She was more of a carpet person; hard floors weren't comfortable to sit down on and they were easier to scuff up.

On the bottom-most bunk and the other bed, clothes were laid out, along with toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, deodorant, and sheathed daggers. One was not like the other and Polanski took to picking up the one on the raised bed. He took it out of its scabbard.

"This is the best welcoming gift I've ever gotten," he said.

Ivy shrugged. "All new campers, whether they're Roman or Greek visitors, are tasked with using a _pugio_. You learn to use that and then you move up to cavalry and then a _gladius_. You'll learn how to used shields, too."

Eddie picked up the dagger that rested on the lower bunk. "So we're actually doing this?" She pointed the end of it at Ivy. "What if we don't want to do this? What if I'm a pacifist?"

"Then good luck trying to survive out in the real world when you've got a bunch of hungry monsters on your tail. But I didn't peg you for being a pacifist."

Eddie tossed the dagger back on the bed. "You shouldn't. I don't look this way for nothing."

"I don't know," Ivy mused. "I've seen a few skinheads who repeal warfare."

"Good for them."

Ivy looked between the two of them and then bowed her head, a respectful gesture to signal her departure. "I'll let you guys get cleaned up. There's a bathroom just down the hall. Make yourselves at home."

"We'll try," Polanski said. "Thanks."

Ivy smiled. She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. It was then did Eddie and Polanski debate who was going to change out first to shower. It was settled when Eddie lost to a quick game of arm wrestling. Polanski left, so Eddie inspected their room a little more while he was gone.

There were already sheets and blankets fixed on the beds, the corners tucked beneath the mattress. The pillows were simple and coverless. The dresser drawers were empty, saved for the last one. It was stocked with books and magazines and language-to-language dictionaries. Most of them were Hellenistic-themed, accommodating toward culture and lifestyle. Eddie only recognized two books, from the syllabus Mrs. Henderson had given her Classical Mythology class on the first day of school: the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_.

Eddie pushed them aside to dig a little deeper. There were more books, more magazines. There was one book that was a hardcover, a large and thin one that resembled those sort of children picture books. The cover featured a group of kids with an adult crowded around a horse with wings. The title read _How To Train Your Pet Pegasus: For Beginners!_

Bored, Eddie rearranged the books so they displayed equal amounts of weight within the drawer, and then shut it.

There was a knock at the door a few minutes later. Polanski entered, a towel wrapped around his waist. He hooked a thumb behind him, indicated that it was her turn to get cleaned up. She abided and grabbed the clothes that had been set out for her, allowing him to enter the room before slipping past him and closing the door behind her.

The bathroom was just down the hall. Eddie locked the door. She dumped her clothes on the little clear ledge beside the sink and began to undress. She stared at the drain as she showered and watched the black blood slowly fade from the water. She used a mesh body sponge to scrub at her skin and washed three times before finally giving up. Eddie wasn't sure how long she'd been in the bathroom, but she quickly washed what little hair she had with just shampoo before rinsing it out and turning the water off.

Eddie dried off and dressed. The shirt was the same shirt she'd seen Reyna, Frank, and Hazel wearing when she'd first seen them back at the gate. The pants were plaid pajama pants, too long and baggy, so Eddie had to pull the hem up to her waist and tie the pull-string tight. There was a plastic hamper in the corner, behind the door. She dropped her soiled clothes in it and made her way back to room 17.

Polanski was laying down on the bottom bunk, already tucked away beneath the covers. The stuff that had been on it before was now on top of the other bed pressed adjacent to the others.

"Here," he said just as Eddie closed the door. His arm was outstretched, a folded half-paper held between his fingers. "It was taped to the mirror."

Eddie took it from him. "What is it?" she asked, but was already unfolded it before Polanski could say anything.

It was a letter, which read:

 _Eddy Reese + David Polansky,_

 _Welcome to Camp Jupiter!_

 _I hope you guys can make yourselves at home here._

There was no signature to indicate the letter's author, so Eddie crumpled it up and threw it away in the wastebasket. If whoever wrote the letter couldn't even bother to spell their names correctly, she wouldn't be bothered taking any hospitality from it.

"Asshole," she said, and climbed the ladder to the loft.

"You're not going to brush your teeth?" Polanski asked.

"No." Eddie yanked the covers and slipped under them. "I'll do that in the morning."

He made a dissatisfied noise, more of a snort. "Your teeth are gonna rot."

"Oh, don't start. You didn't brush yours either."

"No," he admitted, "but I did before today's meet."

"Let me sleep," Eddie said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Polanski sighed. "The light's still on."

"You're closer."

"If I stub my toe, I'm blaming you."

"Okay."

Polanski turned the light and managed to not stub his toe. He climbed back in bed. Eddie closed her eyes and listened as Polanski tossed and turned to get into a comfortable position. She stared at the wall, or at least she thought it was the wall. It was so dark, she had to reach her hand out until it pressed against something solid.

It wasn't long before drowsiness took over and her eyes were closing.

* * *

Eddie wasn't sure how long she'd slept, but when she woke, it wasn't to her alarm clock or her father shaking her shoulder or the smell of anise hyssop her step-mother would burn from time to time, but to someone knocking at the bedroom door. And it was in that moment of awareness did Eddie begin to panic, because for that split second, she wasn't sure where she was.

She sat up and dumped her shoulder against a wall. A wall that wasn't supposed to be there. And then Eddie realized that it _was_ supposed to be there, because this was the sixth cohort and this was Camp Jupiter. She remembered the meeting Polanski and her had with Reyna just hours before, remembered Finn and Jav and Chris, remembered standing on a ledge that looked out over the camp and its city boundaries, remembered that they were there for a reason, remembered that that reason was because they were demigods and this was the safest place to be.

Someone knocked again. Eddie rubbed her face, tired but not tired enough to go back to sleep, especially not with the constant knocking. But Polanski was the one who got up to get it, ungracefully rolling out of bed and stumbling toward the door. He opened it and Ivy Lee stood just outside their room, already dressed and ready, her hair still a tousled mess. She seemed surprised when she found them still in their pajamas.

"You two should be done," she said, and then waved a hand, dismissing it. "You guys can get ready now. Twenty minutes. Reyna wants you guys in the _principia_."

"Oh," Polanski started, and then: "Why?"

"That's for her to say, not me." Ivy peered past Polanski at Eddie. "Twenty minutes," she repeated. " _Principia_."

She left without much else to offer. Polanski closed the door behind her and turned around to look up at Eddie, who was climbing down the ladder.

Eddie jumped the last few pegs and landed barefooted on the wooded floor. "That doesn't sound very good."

"No, it doesn't." Polanski scratched the back of his head. "What do you think it's about? I mean, my best guest is that it has something to do with what we're going to be doing today."

"Like a schedule?"

"I guess?" He shrugged. "What do you think?"

Eddie returned his shrug. "I'd rather find out." She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and headed for the door. "I'll be out in five." She closed the door behind her and headed for the bathroom.

Eddie showered and skipped washing her hair. Instead, she took to rinsing herself off. She dried off and wrapped herself in a towel and headed back to the room, bundling her clothes up in her arms. Polanski and her switched off so he could shower as she dressed. Throwing the pajama bottoms aside, Eddie tugged on jeans that had been supplied for her and wore the same camp T-shirt that she'd worn last night. She pulled her shoes on, tucking the laces into the sides so she wouldn't have to tie them. Two hoodies hung on the back of the door, so Eddie took one and put it on.

There was a knock and a, "Are you descent?"

Eddie called out a, "Yeah," and the door opened. She slipped past Polanski as he walked in with a towel wrapped around his waist. The door closed and she waited, leaning her back against the wall. It wasn't long before Polanski was done getting dressed and met Eddie in the hall. He wore pretty much the same clothes Eddie wore — jeans, the camp shirt, the other hoodie. He sported boots instead of sneakers.

Ivy came around the corner, smiling. "Ready?"

She waited for Eddie and Polanski to confirm their accessibility before turning around, expecting them to follow, which they did. Ivy led them to the foyer and then outside. It was cold, so Eddie flipped her hood up over her head. Streetlamp torches lined along both sides of the roads, and since it was light enough outside, they were unlit. There was an eerie, forlorn atmosphere that clung to the sudden emptiness of the place. It was an emotional afterimage that made it seem not just empty, but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative. Everyone was so conspicuously absent, they glowed like neon signs.

Polanski sucked in a slow breathe and said, "Where is everyone?"

Ivy looked back at him. "New Rome," she said. "Today's Saturday, so the camp has war games later today."

"War games?" he asked.

"You guys are reenacting the Macedonian Wars?" Eddie asked.

Ivy looked at her, confused. "No? One team verses the other in an advanced game of extreme Capture the Flag. That's pretty much it, but you guys don't have to worry about that. Right now, Reyna wants you guys to meet her and Blake."

"Whose Blake?" Polanski asked. "Jav talked with someone named Blake yesterday."

"From what I know, she's part of the group that Chiron sent here. Leader, really. It was only her and Finn when they came here, but Frank sent Jav to join them. Blake stayed here while Finn and Jav went to get you two." Ivy gestured between Eddie and Polanski. "Now you're here, so yeah."

"Okay," Eddie said. "Then do you know why Reyna wants to see us?"

"Confidential," she told her. "But you'll see."

They took _Via Principalis_ and passed the signs post at the crossroad, heading right toward the palatial building at the far end of the road, the _principia_. It was as grand and impressive as Eddie remembered. Ivy led Polanski and her through the vestibule, past the two great statues of Romulus and Remus and through the golden double doors that were fixed open.

Eddie recognized Reyna immediately, despite being underdressed for their arrival. She wore the camp shirt and black fitted capris, her hair done in a loose braid over her shoulder, a dagger sheathed at her hip. She spoke with another girl who Eddie assumed to be Blake, and looked nothing how she'd imagined her to look like. Blake stood at the same height at Reyna. The left side of her head, the side that faced Eddie and Polanski and they walked in, was shaved and dyed a rich, deep blue. Black hair hung on the other side of her head, chin-length. She was fair-skinned and very athletic-looking. From what Eddie could see, tattoos adorned her arms. Finn and Jav were not present, but Eddie couldn't have cared about either of them at the moment. The boy from the other night was there as well. His name was Frank if Eddie remember correctly. He was thumbing through files, peering at certain paperwork inside of a given few.

Blake caught Eddie's gaze. Her eyes were an unnatural blue; too light, too apparent. Reyna must have noticed Blake's diversion because she followed where she was looking and quirked her mouth into a sort of half-smile. Reyna gestured Polanski and Eddie to join them. They did. Argentum, the golden greyhound, turned its head toward Eddie and bared its razor-sharp teeth at her, snarling. She gave it her best poker face, but it did nothing to ease the hound's aggression.

Reyna made a taut whistle. Argentum ceased. "He remembers you," she said.

Polanski nudged her in the arm. "He likes you."

"So much so." The sarcasm was thick in Eddie's voice.

Reyna quirked a smile, but it was gone as fast is it had come. She looked past Eddie and Polanski. "Ivy," she said, "thank you. You can stay or leave. It's up to you."

"Thank you," Ivy said. She bowed her head, and although she had been given an invitation to stay, she chose to leave the _principia_. Her steps echoed as she headed out.

"Now," Reyna started. She exhaled a breath through her nose, but did not finish what she'd been about to say. Instead, Frank took it upon himself to talk. He slipped out a couple of papers from a middle file before placing the rest in a pile on the desk.

Frank said, "Well, there's some bad news regarding your guys's transfer to Camp Half-Blood." He waited a beat, hoping for either of them to respond. Eddie and Polanski gave each other side glances, but said nothing. Frank continued, "There's no easy way to say it, but here it is: just this morning — at least a couple hours ago — two bodies were found by the Minisceongo Creek in Haverstraw."

It was spoken in a way that meant one thing: that those two bodies by the Minisceongo Creek in Haverstraw were not alive when they'd been found. It did not provoke Eddie to mourn because 1) she did not personally know the two who had died and 2) death was an inevitable consequence of life, whether by accident, by purpose, or by nature. Eddie also thought the information irrelevant. This was something read in the newspaper. It was something watched on the evening news, a fly-by story that would be heard, maybe remembers, but forgotten in due time, because time was relevant for mending and letting go.

Polanski seemed indifferent. He seemed bothers — yes, but there was nothing else to uphold to. He contemplated the decision to speak or to stay quiet; he kept sucking in his lips against his teeth and running his tongue over his bottom lip. Polanski finally gave in, shrugged, and said, "What does that have to do with us?"

It was apathetic, if simply too cruel; Frank and Reyna and Blake were looking at him as if those eight words had insulted everything about them. He took it to the core and reeled himself back, held himself together by a thread of distrust and uncertainty. Eddie felt the atmosphere drop, could feel it in her chest, by the weight of their stares.

Blake, her blue eyes too bright and too furious, made her way around the desk and stood beside Aurum, the golden hound, which reacted to her anger by gnashing its teeth at Polanski. "You think this is a joke?" She didn't give Polanski any time to reply when he opened his mouth. "Whether or not you think it is, this is a serious situation. The two who died — demigods. Greek demigods. If anything, its has _everything_ to do with you. Maybe you're just too stupid to see it, but their death wasn't a coincidence —"

Before Blake could say another word, Eddie interjected. "Are you saying that it's our fault they're dead? Because if you are, that's a really shitty thing to do to us. And, what? Make us feel guilty for a couple of kids we don't know?"

"Eddie," Polanski said, warned.

She ignored him. "They know, right? Chiron — _the_ Chiron, and everyone else? I mean, if you and Finn and Jav were sent to get us, then that's it, right? Maybe, whoever, knew, and they ended up dead as a warning. Change, right? Isn't it all about change?" The last bit was meant or Polanski, because if anything, he knew what she was talking about, and if Finn was there with them, maybe he would have been able to understand, too.

Blake opened her mouth. The tendons in her neck were prominent with vexation and stress. But, if suddenly, Reyna unsheathed her dagger and pinned it down blade-point first. It caught everyone off guard, which was enough distraction.

"Enough," she said. "I've had enough." She gave a pointed look at Eddie, then at Polanski. "To make this as short and as genial as possible, the two of you are not to leave until advised when it will be safe enough to. With that, you will abide by Camp Jupiter's rules, which means that you will not leave unless advised; you will participate in all camp activities, including tonight's war games; you will be given chores to do. I hope your visit will be civil."

"It's as civil as it is," Polanski said. "But sure."

Eddie quirked up an eyebrow. "So we're staying? For how long?"

"Long enough to teach you some manners, I hope," Blake said.

Eddie glared at her. She glared right back.

Polanski said, "That's fine. We'll take it. What now?"

Frank took this as an opportunity to speak. "Right now you guys have sword training. That'll be held in the _palaestra_ since the coliseum is being used right now."

"Bummer," Eddie deadpanned.

Polanski elbowed her in the arm and then asked, "Who's teaching it, then?"

Eddie hated the way Blake grinned at the question. She hated it even more when Blake said, "Me."


	9. 09

Polanski and Eddie followed Blake out of the _principia_ and down _Via Principalis_. It was the first building on their right did they enter, something of great marble and stucco. It silhouetted against the sky. Vegetation grew in some of the crevices, and poppies and daisies bloomed in the grass under foot around it. The word _BALINEA_ was engraved along the entablature that rested atop of a row of columns and their capitals. Polanski cognitively translated the word into _baths_ and realized they were entering the bath house. Watery echoes sounded from within, of voices and bare feet against floor.

"This is a bath house," Polanski said. It was directed toward no one in particular, but Blake looked back at him and Eddie looked up, up at the inscriptive word above.

Blake said, "Yeah," like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The _palaestra_ is through here, which is where we'll be meeting from here on out. It's used for sports and exercise."

"Why aren't we at the colosseum?" Eddie asked, her head tipped back, so her voice was a little strained. She looked at Blake. "Isn't that where all the sword-fighting and shit happens?"

"Yes," she said, "it's where all the sword-fighting and shit happens, but we're using this instead. There's another one on the other end of the building, so no one's going to be bothering us."

Under her breath, Eddie said, "Fun."

Polanski dismissed her. "That's fine," he said.

"It's going to have to be," Blake said. "Whether you two like it or not, you guys are stuck here until Chiron gives the say-so for us to take you there. Until then, welcome to Roman life. You can leave your propriety at the door."

After a tense beat of silence, Blake led them through one of the side entryways. There were four altogether. From his classes with Mrs. Henderson, all Polanski could remember from the architecture of the Roman baths wasn't much, only that they had a number of rooms for a number of activities. And so they made their way in, passing through a hall that had joint entries leading further into the bath house.

The _palaestra_ was a large rectangular court. The floor was made of packed sand, hard enough to hurt when fallen on, but soft enough that it wouldn't cause any serious injury. On the right, where a section of the room buckled inward, a colonnade of four columns lined in front of it. The space was packed with all sorts of equipment; some of it Polanski recognized from his wrestling meets back at Kingsmen High. A large dome-shaped breach was carved out on the left side, a slab of wall missing that worked out as some sort of entry. A series of benches were perched against the wall on either side of the doorway. On the other end of the room, ten body opponent bags lined the wall in alternating heights.

At the center of the _palaestra_ there were two people hashing it out with each other. From the looks of it, it was the opening act. Both forms had an unbreakable stance and expressions as hard as granite. There was no wavering in the line of the blow that came. They had both agreed upon the consequences of where this fist would land. And it was only too late did Polanski realize who they were.

Jav went down. He twisted his upper body in a way, so that when he touched the ground, it was in one fluid motion that he was back up again, fist smacking into Finn. He released a string of profanity so varied and pointed that Polanski was amazed that the words alone didn't slay Jav. Knees met chests. Elbows rammed into faces. Finn worked on defense while Jav fumed at offense, not having a care in the world for his antics. And then Finn grabbed a fistful of Jav's shirt and used it to haul him over his shoulder.

"Fuck!" snarled Jav. He maneuvered himself that gave him equal parts to breaking the landing, which gave him time to wrap his legs around Finn's waist and pull him down with him. They rolled and fussed, until Jav was straddling Finn and hit him in the side of the mouth hard enough that even Polanski felt it, and from his peripheral vision, saw Eddie flinch.

Blake did nothing to stop them. She stood with a hand on her hip, like she was waiting for them to stop horsing around, not like they were actually bloodying each other up for any good reason.

Eddie asked, "Shouldn't you stop them?"

Blake shrugged. "It's not my call. It's not like it's real."

"Finn's blind. Shouldn't he —"

But the words died in Eddie's throat as soon as Finn was back on his feet, because while Blake and her had been conversing, Finn was able to take the upper hand by pushing Jav off of him and getting a descent blow to his stomach. They both stood now, fists drawn up to their faces, bloody, not broken, tracing each others steps as they circled one another.

And then Finn took the back of Jav's head in a white-knuckled grip and slammed his forehead against the other's mouth. Jav reared back, a little off balance. Finn stumbled forward. If they were itching to go for another round, Blake had taken their general pause as cue to step in.

"Well," she said, stepping forward, "that was quite a show. How about you guys use the other room for your stupid quarrels, okay? Jav, put on a fucking shirt."

Polanski hadn't noticed before, but maybe it was because he'd never seen him without long sleeves. Finn wore a sleeveless compression shirt that showed off, not only his broad shoulders and toned arms, but the tattoos that ran from his shoulders to wrists. On each arm, identical to each other, was a blue-green serpent that coiled around his biceps and forearms and stopped at the wrists. They were elaborately decorated, entwined with a number of things that interlaced within each other to create one design of the one serpent.

Jav, bare-chested, wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at Blake in dismay. "It's hot," he said, and then looked past her to Polanski and Eddie. "Oh, are you going to train them?"

"I'm going to try, but I can't when I have two fuck-heads using up my time and space for theirs." Blake swung her arms in a gesture that told them to get out. "Now, move it. I can't have you staining the floor with your blood. That's rude."

Jav scoffed, but didn't say anything. He took to prodding at his mouth to see if anything was bleeding, which it was, but not a lot to have been concerned about. Finn retreated to a small cluster of benches that had been pushed together in a sort of semi-square. He grabbed a water bottle from the two that were there and downed it in one sitting.

Finn shot Blake a cool look and said, "Mind if we watch? Promise we'll be quiet."

Jav came over to him and snatched up the other water bottle. Before taking a sip he gave Finn an incredulous look. "What for? Watching either of them use a sword's gonna be a waste of time."

"Would you rather watch or do those dishes?" he asked, his voice sly and cryptic.

Jav was nodding his head before Finn could finish his question. "Yes," he said. "Always." He looked at Blake. "We're not leaving."

Blake blew out an vexed sigh, but didn't argue. "Fine, but don't butt in."

Jav held up his hands in mock surrender. When Finn and he were finished cooling themselves off and Jav had finally put a shirt on, they sat on the benches and watched as Blake took Eddie and Polanski to the near center of the room and told them to stand there and not move until she came back. Polanski was almost tempted to disobey her and Eddie nearly had, but was late to do so when Blake came back no later than when she'd left them. She held identical swords in each hand, both sheathed in their scabbards, that were no more than a couple of feet long. She handed one to Polanski and the other to Eddie.

"These are _gladii_ ," Blake told them. Polanski took his at the side of the sheath and the grip. Eddie took hers the same way and immediately unsheathed it. Blake slapped her on the back of the hand. "It hasn't even been the startof your training and you're already being an idiot about it. Don't do anything unless I tell you, got it?"

Eddie scowled up at Blake. She lifted the sword up by its grip. "Got it."

Blake was hesitant, keeping her incisive stare on Eddie, but she said, "Good," and then began their first lesson of the day. It consisted of basic drills and techniques; she taught them how to hold the sword properly, how to grip it so it gave equal weight to the holder's arm and body.

The art of emulation was an easy enough task for Polanski to uphold. He copied any and every movie Blake made with his sword as she did with hers, from simple pivoting and prodding to coupled slashing. Polanski wasn't a weapons fanatic, but he knew enough, or at least the basics, from the movies he'd watched. And when he looked to Eddie, he saw that she was struggling to even lift her sword. The blades were identical, sure, but Polanski had had nearly four years of weight training specifically for wrestling while Eddie had had none, maybe a couple of months of conditioning for volleyball, but that was nothing compared to what they were doing now. And it wasn't helping that Blake would correlate them into order with her harsh tone and importunate demeanor.

At one point, Finn and Jav had gotten bored with their taxing efforts to succeed at a cinched throw-back, where either Polanski or Eddie were tried for lasting more than ten seconds against Blake. Her talent went unyielded and neither of them had the practice to make it past five. Polanski nearly hit seven, when Eddie was forced to take a break and crumbled to the ground in a heap of sighs and groans, splaying her arms and legs out to lay.

When Polanski raked up from under, catching the underside of Blake's blade, Blake was quick and sly enough to flip their roles and coil her blade around his until her point was inches from Polanski's throat.

"Good try," she told him. She turned her head, not quite all the way to look back at Finn and Jav, and yelled, "How long was that?"

Jav passed the question along to Finn, who in turn told him, "I'm blind, not deaf," and then proceeded to tell Blake that Polanski had lasted seven seconds out of the five she'd estimated them for.

Eddie made a dismissing sound and got to her feet. "Congrats," she said, wheezing. She wagged her sword's blade at Blake. "My turn."

Blake laughed and Polanski told Eddie that she was insane for such a challenge. Eddie responded by inhaling a deep breath and exhaling it as a jagged sigh. If anything, she was an impatient and sore learner. Everything had to be done when and how she wanted it. So when it was apparent that Eddie would not back down, Blake took that as an invitation to at-ease Polanski. She twirled her sword by its hilt. Eddie shook her arms out and popped her neck.

Polanski bit the side of his thumb nail. "This is a mistake," he said.

On the other side of the _palaestra_ Jav craned his neck in a curious endeavor to know what was going on. He hit Finn on the shoulder with the back of his hand and stood up, head over to where Polanski stood. Finn was slower to follow, but he stood on the other side of him.

"They're really gonna go at it?" Jav asked, his voice poised with amusement. "Rhys doesn't know shit and she's already asking for a death wish?"

Finn gave a passive shrug. "Maybe she won't shake."

Eddie shook. When she lifted up her sword, her arm was visibly quivering from its weight. Although being left-handed, she wielded it with her right. But Polanski wasn't entirely worried. Blake was their instructor; she wouldn't actually maim Eddie, not when they were expected to participate in the camp's rigorous activities.

When Blake and Eddie were within arms-length of each other, swords held up, Finn counted down from five. At two Eddie surged forward. It wasn't a surprise, but Polanski still flinched back. He expected her to trip or fall, to cut herself. He expected Blake to dodge, to side-step Eddie, play with her until she was out of breath, too tired to carry on. But she caught Eddie's over-head swing in an under-swing of her own. The ferocity of it had Eddie's blade teetering, had her knuckles white with how tight she was gripping its hilt.

"If you want to know how good Blake is," Finn said and held up three fingers. "Nemesis, Bellona, and Artemis." He waited a beat for Polanski to understand who he was talking about. "Those are the three goddesses Blake trained with. Rumor has it, she's one of the most powerful demigods between here and New York."

Polanski looked at him, his eyebrows raised. "Rumor has it," he echoed, dumbfounded. "Rumor _has it_? That's crazy. She's crazy."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Jav said.

Polanski ignored him, ignored Finn when he started rambling on about Blake and her rumors. He guessed Finn figured out he wasn't listening anymore because he'd stopped talking about a minute in.

Eddie cursed under her breath in French. Polanski could only hear it because it was in a language he recognized and knew well in is obscenity. Blake was a fierce wall of valor, but she didn't have to be, because Eddie was neither a threat nor an enemy. Eddie lifted up her sword, but just barely. Her arms still shook and she was out of breath. Blake looked at her, her eyelids hooded, a look of absolute boredom.

"Your false bravado doesn't impress me," Blake said.

Eddie responded by rushing forward, twirling her sword. The action was forced and pained. Polanski could see the sour twist in her mouth and the twinge in her brows. But she came forward and Blake braced for impact. Eddie used both hands, rather than the one, and swung like she was holding a baseball bat. Blake caught it. Eddie let one hand go and grabbed ahold of Blake's shirt at the collar.

It was slow-motion, the way Polanski saw it. Blake was only taken aback for a fraction of a second. Eddie, blinded by her sudden success in getting through her guarding, didn't see it coming. Blake switched hands, grabbed Eddie by the wrist of the hand that groped her, and yanked it back. Eddie yelped. Blake swept her from under feet, essentially flipping her over and onto her stomach, her arm wrought back awkwardly. Eddie seethed through clenched teeth, but didn't say anything.

"This is usually the time where you yield and I claim my winnings," Blake said. She aimed the point of her sword at the back of Eddie's shaved head. "I can dislocate your shoulder, which would hurt. Or I can ram my sword through your throat, which would also hurt." She let go of her arm but didn't move her sword away.

Polanski went to take a step forward, but Finn's arm stopped him. Instead he yelled, "This doesn't seem fair. You can't do that."

"This is fair," she shot back at him, "and I can do this. I can do whatever the hell I please. She's not dead. Be grateful. Get up or get out." The last part was directed at Eddie, who rolled over her good arm and glared up at Blake.

"I want that," Eddie said, her voice just quiet enough to hear.

Blake narrowed her eyes and said, "Then start trying." She retreated her sword and stuck it in the ground by her feet. "Don't push me and don't act so cocky. That's what's going to get you killed."

"Pushing you?" Eddie pushed herself up to stand. "Or being cocky?"

Blake sent her warning look, but didn't comment. Eddie returned it with a cheeky smile, all teeth.

Blake took her sword from the ground and slipped it back into its sheath that was strapped around her waist. Eddie and Polanski did the same. Eddie threw hers to the ground and didn't bother to pick it back up again, so Polanski took hers and his own and gave them back to Blake. She didn't thank him or really acknowledge him when she took them from him, but Polanski couldn't have cared. He retreated back to Eddie's side.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

Eddie stood with the palms of her hands pressed at the small of her back as he leaned backward slightly. He wasn't sure whether she was stretching or exhausting herself from sparring with Blake. She slide him a look that told that she was equal parts tired and relieved. "I'm fine." But he'd meant _fine_ from the cut she'd received, and she quickly caught on and said, "Oh. Yeah. I'm good." Polanski wasn't sure if she really was, but he dismissed the thought for the time being.

Blake had taken the _gladii_ back to the storage niche behind the colonnade. Polanski watched as she disappeared and saw her, maybe, as a different person. She was immortal, a Huntress, but he wasn't scared of her, he couldn't be. But, in a way, it felt like he was. Really, it was everyone, from Finn to Jav to Blake to Reyna to Frank and Hazel, and even to Ivy Lee. Maybe it was was people Eddie and he passed throughout the camp. But it was the bigger picture — the people he didn't know that he passed on the street every day. Were they demigods? Were they as powerful as the name suggested? Polanski wasn't sure; didn't know; didn't want to know.

Eddie flicked Polanski's temple. "The least you could be is a little discreet," she said to him, but he wasn't sure what she was talking about. Not really, not at first. He did after she kept staring at him, her eyes wide and accusing.

"Oh," he said. "Oh — what? No?"

Eddie's lips twitched into a half grin. She didn't say anything.

"Eddie — stop that."

Nothing for her to say.

"You guys can leave." Blake's voice rung up behind them, nothing to startle them, but enough to get their attention. When they just stared at her, she said, "It's lunch. Go away." When they continued to stare at her, she pressed, "Go. Away."

"Whadd'you mean _lunch_ ?" Eddie asked. "What time is it?"

"Lunchtime," Blake said. She turned to Finn and Jav. "I want you guys to show them around. Get them settled, or something. Just keep them out of my sight until tonight. Got it?"

"Is this the part where we say 'Yes, sir?'" Jav shrugged in a non-comprehensive way.

Finn swatted his arm and told Blake, "Sure. We got it."

"Thank you," she said.

Blake left the way they'd come in and didn't so much as turn around to look back at them.

* * *

Lunch was a systematic and methodical time for Camp Jupiter. It reminded Polanski a lot of his schedule at Kingsmen High, and he dreaded it immediately. All at once, campers swarmed the cobbled streets. They made their way toward a specific building opposite of the bath house. Polanski guessed that that was the dining hall and was a little bit overwhelmed. The building was really two buildings pushed together with a walkway between them. Polanski wasn't sure why there were two or why they were separated, but he assumed that maybe this camp couldn't hold so many bodies and needed the extra room.

Polanski and Eddie detoured around campers toward one of the three dining halls, following close behind Finn and Jav. The hall they entered was set up as a sort of buffet, where a number of dishes were set out for campers to grab themselves their own meal. The menus boasted a wide variety of foods Polanski would have never seen served at any cafeteria. But there were two sections that were being advertised: buffet lunches and create-your-own-meal plates.

The dining hall was busy when the four of them arrived, though it might have just looked busy because the seating arrangement seemed like it only sat maybe a hundred people. Finn and Jav found an empty table near the wall, right by the floor-to-ceiling window panels. Jav volunteered Polanski to join him to get them all their meals, and so they headed toward the create-your-own-meal section without hesitance, pushing their way past a line of campers waiting at the buffet.

Brass plates and cups lined the counter. A sign above promulgated a specific cost of fifty denarii. Polanski wasn't sure how much fifty denarii was worth, but he could guess from the lack of people that it wasn't cheap. A modern register was at the front, a teenager standing behind the counter, her makeup scant and hair dip-dyed an obnoxiously bright shade of yellow.

Jav produced a card and swiped it at the register, collected four plates and cups, and handed two of each to Polanski. Jav waved the two plates he held in front of Polanski's face when he stared back over his shoulder and said:

"You don't have to gawk. These are for special on-the-go. Cost extra, though."

Polanski pointed at the food buffets as they passed them. "What about lunch?" he asked.

Jav teetered the plates in his face in emphasis. "These _is_ our lunch. You'll see."

The two of them made their way back to the table they'd situated for themselves. When they pushed past a small group of friends who refused to move up in the line they were standing in, Polanski realized that Eddie wasn't at the table, an empty seat in her disappearance. Finn was still there; he had his chin resting in the palm of his hand, a look of absolute boredom pulling at the edges of his face. Jav tossed a plate to him, to which he caught without so much as looking at it — the cup, too. Polanski placed one of the two plates and cups he had where Eddie had been sitting and the other where he sat beside her.

When he was seated, Polanski asked, "Where's Eddie?"

"Infirmary," Finn was quick to say. He shrugged then when Polanski pressed him for further detail. "Blake cut her. She was bleeding. I told her to get it fixed. If any of you want to participate in tonight's games, you guys are going to have to be more careful."

Polanski tried for a look of concern. "Is she okay?" he asked.

Finn made a cutting gesture with his hand. "I wouldn't worry about it. Something small. Nectar should work fine."

"Nectar?" And then: "Ivy — she told us we didn't have to worry about it. The war games, I mean."

Jav laughed. "Ivy Lee?" When he said her name, it sounded incredulous and mocking. "She's a pacifist. Typical for a Greek. No offense." Finn slightly raised his shoulders, but said nothing against it. "Fighting isn't her thing. Of course she's going to say you guys don't have to worry about it." In Latin he said, "Water," and then he was drinking out of his cup that Polanski was sure had been empty. Jav pointed a laden finger at Polanski. "Suck it up and face the facts. You guys are new, sure, but you're going to have to live up to our expectations one day or another. Might as well start now."

Polanski felt like he'd just been executed with a pincer attack. He was out of options he'd never had. The last thing he wanted was to participate in anything war related, especially in a camp where death-by-Hannibal was a relatively common thing. At this point he wished he'd stayed in bed yesterday. If he'd been lazy, he wouldn't have had to go to his wrestling meet, he wouldn't have had almost killed by RC, he and Eddie wouldn't have be in this crazy mess.

And then he was thinking of how this craziness all came crashing down. Really, it wasn't hard to trace its significance. It had started when he'd first met Eddie, when he'd been curious enough get his cards read by Amery Collins. An inverted Six of Swords that indicated his forced decision that was never his to choose. A decision that had the tides turning in someone else's favor, never his. He thought about the significance of the card Eddie drew up after the incident at Kingsmen High, how Finn had been more than willing to beat around its bush than explain how he'd known of it in the first place.

Polanski's thoughts jumped from one scenario to another, one idea to the next, but he couldn't specifically pinpoint the exact reason for Eddie and his importance to being there. If anything, it had something to do with the other camp on the other end of the country.

"David!"

Polanski looked up, first at Jav, then at Finn, and finally at Eddie. She sat between him and Finn. Her hoodie was gone, replaced with a black windbreaker. Most of her makeup from yesterday was gone, too, making her look a lot younger than she really was.

The first thing Polanski said was, "You're back." And then, "Are you okay?"

Eddie waved the question off and looked down at the empty platter in front of her. "Where's the grub."

"Enchanted," Jav said. "Talk to it."

Polanski and Eddie exchanged uncertain looks. She said, "Excuse me?"

When Jav opened his mouth, Finn spoke in his place instead. "They're enchanted. You say the meal you want and it appears. Honestly, it isn't that hard." He picked up a sandwich Polanski hadn't noticed before and took a bite out of it.

"Obviously," Polanski said.

Eddie slapped a hand on the table and exclaimed, " _Coq au vin_!"

Although Polanski knew what she was saying, Jav looked almost startled. "Cock quah _what_?"

"Kawk — aw — van." She repeated it slowly, and with the most obnoxious French accent. When the braised chicken filled onto her plate, Eddie gestured at it and shot Jav an accusing finger. "It's chicken with wine. French. Don't look so surprised."

"I didn't know you could be so sophisticated," he said. "But alcohol isn't allowed."

"The wine's for flavor." She looked between Jav and Finn. "Have either of you ever cooked anything?"

"Not with _wine_."

"You are depriving a serious art." Eddie made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Even the ancient Romans cooked with wine. They dipped bread in wine and made wine sauces."

Polanski gave her a side look. "Why do you know any of this? Henderson didn't teach us about ancient cuisine."

Eddie straightened her back. "I know my shit."

Polanski didn't bother to question her any further. If there was one thing Eddie was a fanatic of, it was food, especially of French origin. Instead, he told his plate to pack in enough food to fuel him through to the end of the day.

The four of them ate in stationary silence. Only the cacophony of the cafeteria sprung about. Afterward, Polanski and Eddie were free to return to their room on Finn and Jav's request, since the war games wouldn't be starting until after dinner that evening.

To no surprise, their room was empty. It was only the first day and Polanski already felt beat. He hadn't realized how long Blake had been training them — one hour, two. Non-stop. He contemplated whether he should take a nap for a few hours or persuade Eddie to come with him to New Rome. Five minutes later he was still uninspired and Eddie had already climbed the ladder to her bunk, so he toed off his shoes and laid down on his bed.

* * *

The sound of horns being blown woke Polanski.

Above him, he heard a loud bang, and realized that Eddie was pounding on the wall.

"Shut up," she said. "Five more minutes."

Polanski slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He rubbed his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and glanced at the alarm clock. The time read 5:43 p.m. They'd slept for nearly four hours.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It opened as Eddie let out a strangled groan. A young girl with long, wavy black hair stood in the doorway, a plumed helmet tucked under her arm.

Without so much as a lilt of sentiment, she said, "You guys are late for evening muster."

"Thanks," Polanski said.

Eddie crawled down the ladder and gave the girl a dismissive glance. "Who the hell are you?" The way she said it disregarded any posture of care.

Apathetically, the girl said, "Wilcox." To Polanski she said, "Arianna Wilox. Call me Aria, though."

"Aria," he repeated. "What's the evening muster?"

"Before the games," she said. "Everyone is already outside. Look, I don't have time to explain everything to you right now. Just come." Aria left the doorway.

Eddie scoffed. "I hate kids."

Polanski slipped on his shoes and waited for Eddie to do the same, but apparently she'd slept with them on. She was standing by the door, and when they followed Ivy to the front of the cohort, he asked her, "Did you sleep with your shoes on?"

Eddie looked at him. "I was too lazy to take them off."

"At least you're honest."

When Aria said that everyone was outside, she was not kidding. Polanski wasn't sure how many kids there were — thirty or forty were cohort at best, but they all stood in rows in front of their barracks on either side of the _Via Praetoria_. Aria ushered Polanski and Eddie down the long line of campers outside of their cohort, right at the end, and left them to stand somewhere in the middle of it all.

All of them, the Romans and the Greeks, wore some sort of armor, whether it was chain mail and greaves or leather bodices and arm bracers. Weapons hung at their hips. Helmets were tucked under their arms. Anyone who wore purple shirts held huge, red and gold, rectangular shields and carried a number of weapons on them.

In front of the _principia_ stood Reyna and Frank. The metal greyhounds Aurum and Argentum sat on either side of them, with Aurum on Reyna's left and Argentum on Frank's right. Both of their purple officer's capes billowed behind them.

First and last names were called. The responses were almost always, "Present!" or "Here!" Polanski saw Hazel taking names for the Fifth Cohort that was tucked in the back corner.

A couple campers stood off to one side with two acting as guards. They wore the camp shirts, but they looked uncomfortable and kept whispering to each other.

Polanski saw it before Eddie did, but when she finally noticed, he received a hard slap to his shoulder. The ghosts from the other day were last to fall in. These were the whole spirits, not the ones that showed the state of their deaths. As it was, a little boy went to stand in front of Eddie and him. When he turned his head, he only had eyes for Eddie, saying to her, " _Tres sunt efformata_."

 _You are of the three-formed_ , was how Polanski translated it as.

He was about to tell Eddie this, but she'd taken what the boy said as an insult and snapped at him to turn around or she wouldn't hesitate to exorcize him. The boy's eyes grew wide and he turned around, shoulders stiff.

Someone shouted, "Colors!"

Polanski wasn't sure what to make of the eight campers that stepped forward. There was one who wore a wolf's pelt over himself. He held pole with a small square piece of cloth attached to the top of it, in which it had the letters LEGXX above a golden boar. Another wore a bear's pelt over herself, and held a pole with an imago of some old man made from beaten metal. One from each cohort wore a bear's pelt. All of them held a pole with a series of disks and was topped with a golden human hand with a laurel wreath around it. The last camper looked the most impressive, with a lion's pelt worn over herself. She held a long pole with a golden eagle on top of it, its wings outstretched.

Reyna held up a hand. All eight campers who had stepped forward yelled something in Latin that Polanski couldn't make out.

"Romans!" she announced, her voice carrying greatly over the silence that came with it. "We have three new recruits who seek to join the legion. What do the auguries say?" At the last part she turned to a mousey-looking girl. She had her fingers intwined in front of her and her head bowed enough so she wouldn't have to look anyone directly in the eye.

The girl said, "They're qualified to serve."

Despite her voice being nearly inaudible, the campers all shouted, " _Ave_!" _Hail!_

The campers that were being guard were motioned to come forward by Reyna. When they lined themselves in front of her and Frank, Frank asked if they had any credentials or any letters of reference. One of them, a lanky African American boy, handed over an envelope to Frank. He handed it to Reyna, who scanned over its contents.

"Impressive," she said. "I'm sure the Third Cohort would be fitting. Your grandmother would be very proud."

The boy straightened his back and tilted his chin up. The Third Cohort pounded their shields against the ground. The sound was euphoric, if ever charming. An entire body of people who were willing to, essentially, adopt someone as their own.

The two others seemed to consume the valor of the campers and tried to their best of look brave and presentable. Neither of them had credentials or letters of reference, and so they were immediately attested for any legionnaires who would stand for them. The Fourth Cohort vouched for one of the two recruits, a tall, bronze-skinned girl who looked as though she could arm wrestle anyone and win. The First Cohort vouched for the second, a short boy, whose hair was dyed a bright green.

Shields pounded. Voices hollered.

"Congratulations," Reyna said. "As of now, all three of you stand on _probatio_. You will be given a tablet with your names and cohort. In one year's time, or as soon as you complete an act of valor, you will become full members of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, and defend the camp with honor. _Senatus Populusque Romanus_!"

The voices that followed shook the heart. Polanski had to take a deep breath to get the feeling back in his chest.

"Centurions," Frank said, "you and your troops have one hour for dinner. After, we'll meet on the Field of Mars. The First, Third, and Fifth Cohorts are on defense. The Second, Fourth, and Six Cohorts are on offense."

Polanski braced himself for the cheer that went up. It was heavier and louder than previous. It was for the war games and for dinner. In his peripheral vision, he saw Eddie covering her ears and scowling at the campers around her. Soon, the cohorts broke ranks. A majority of campers went for the mess hall.

Eddie turned around and started walking toward the front door, but Polanski caught her shoulder just as she put a foot on the porch steps.

"We need to talk," he said.

Eddie furrowed her eyebrows. "No?"

For a moment Polanski didn't speak. And then, in French, he said, "We need to talk about why we are here. Finn still has that card." He dropped his hand from Eddie's shoulder as she turned around.

In French, Eddie replied, "That hardly matters now. I would rather forget about it and wait until we leave. He can keep the card."

"I think it all matters. Nothing is just a coincidence." Polanski tucked both of his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He ducked his head and gave a casual look around, making sure no one was paying them any mind. "Look, I want to know what is going on. And I know you want your card back —"

"It is not the card I am concerned about. I can do the same with any reading."

"Okay. So — what? Do you not want to know why RC attacked us? Or why Finn or Jav came to get us? Why we were taken here specifically? Why not the half-blood one? Why not the, ah, the Greek one? Is this not all because of the readings?"

"Of course I am curious." Eddie swept her arm out. "About everything." She lowered her voice when a a group of friends walked by, still clad in their armor. "Look, can we do this later? Or somewhere more private?"

"No one speaks French. No one I am aware of."

"Then this is over," Eddie said in English. "For now." She looked back at the guest house and paused, as if to contemplate whether she should go inside or walk away. She brushed passed Polanski, taking her second option. "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

Polanski sighed, but followed after her.

* * *

Polanski thought the second mess hall would be just like the first, that they were identical, but that wasn't the case when Eddie and him walked through the doors. All tables were rounded and large enough to fit at least ten to fifteen people. Instead of chairs, there were couches — elongated wooden benches with lion head adornments along the sides. Numerous banners lined the walls and hung from the ceiling beams above.

Clusters of campers, all still in their armor, sat around these tables. Some traded seats, others squeezing into spots that wouldn't sit more than the given. There seemed to be a breakage of groups between the seating arrangement, where everyone was situated in their cohorts. The Sixth, the guest house, were all the way in the back, tucked away by another group of campers. The further the tables, Polanski noticed, the least the honor.

Polanski spotted Finn, sitting at the tables that seated the Greeks from the guest housing. He also saw Jav, but he was too busy to notice Polanski as he chatted away with his fellow campers at the Third Cohort's tables.

Eddie, without her glasses, seemed to glare at everyone she passed. Polanski told her to lighten up as he guided her toward the very back. There was an open spot beside Finn Polanski took. Eddie claimed one between Aria and a dark-haired boy.

There was a brisk breeze that settled in the mess hall. It seemed a lot less natural than it was supposed to be. Eventually, everyone who sat at the table got their meals. Plates, bowls, cups, and cutlery — all stacked with food, filled with beverages. While Polanski got a corned beef sandwich with a cup of Coke, Eddie got something that looked like a salad drenched in dressing between two hamburger buns.

"So," Eddie quipped up, "did you still want to talk?"

Polanski looked at her with a stern expression. He knew she got the message — _don't bring it up now_ — but that seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Polanski didn't know whether Eddie was being facetious or just plain stupid, but the question was sudden and caught the interest of listening ears. Finn leaned back, his misty eyes a calculating endeavor to whatever _talk_ they still needed to converse.

"The war games," Polanski said automatically.

"You're joining," Finn said, delighted.

He gave a passive shrug. "Do we have much of a choice?"

"Newcomers don't," said the dark-haired boy. "Roman or Greek, you have to participate. Have you had training?"

"Does an afternoon count?"

The boy screwed his mouth in a look of displeasure. "Barely."

"Look at the bright side," Finn said, "at least we're defending this time. We've got Chris. I can't remember the last time he was on our side."

"What about Blake?" Eddie took a bite of her salad burger.

Finn shrugged. "If she's feeling up to it. She might just join the Second Cohort for that matters?"

Eddie furrowed her eyebrows, but Polanski took her inability to talk in advantage and asked, "Second? Isn't she Greek? Or is she Roman?"

"Greek, for sure," the dark-haired boy said. "But she trained here under Roman standards. That's why she's so close with Reyna. Blake trained under Bellona for some time. Ah, Reyna's mother."

Polanski took a sip of his soda. "Bellona? She's a goddess right?"

Aria rolled her eyes. "Obviously," she said. "A Roman goddess. She's affiliated with war. She and Mars are probably the most important gods here. Well, besides Zeus — Jupiter, I mean."

Eddie pointed a finger at her, and then made an arched gesture that indicated the entire table. "So the Romans are tactical and the Greeks are — what? — hippy-dippy?"

"You've never even been to Camp Half-Blood," Aria said.

"Uh-huh." Eddie finished the rest of her salad burger and downed her drink in one go.

Polanski massaged his temples, skewing his glasses. The rest ate while another gust of wind gave Eddie seconds, this time getting something that looked like raw chicken soaked in tomato sauce. Sometimes he didn't know how Eddie could eat any of that stuff. Eddie had called it _pieds paquets_ the first time he'd asked, which apparently was French for _feet packet_ , because the dish consisted of tripe-stuffed sheep's feet. Polanski's stomach ached at the thought.

Everyone eventually finished their dinner. Polanski wasn't sure what time it was, but he was certain that the atmosphere was starting to simmering down. There was less eating and more chatting. At some point, the conversation at the table started veering on the topic of Halloween and how they planned to celebrate it — whether they were purchasing or making their own costume, if going out with friends or family or both, where and when they'd go trick-or-treating — whether or not any one of them weregoing out for Halloween on a school night.

Polanski and Eddie found out that Arianna Wilox was a thirteen-year-old daughter of the Greek god Zeus. Polanski knew she was young; she _looked_ young, but the only thing that surprised him was that she was the daughter of such a powerful Olympian. They also found out that the dark-haired boy was a fourteen-year-old son and ambassador of Pluto named Nico di Angelo who, apparently, was involved in the camp's political life as a senator. Eddie had asked him if he could see or speak with the dead or if he'd every played tic-tac-toe with a ghost before. He'd given her a bored look, like he couldn't have bothered to care or was just plain irritated for her offhanded attempt to converse.

Finn and Aria were engaged in a light conversation that had something to do with the war games and something about a siege. Polanski was keenly aware of Nico watching Eddie and him, whether it was while he drank his drink quietly and casually or turning his head in a way that indicated his awareness to what they were talking about.

Suddenly, a horn blew. The same horn that had blown earlier. There was a table near the front, something Polanski had overseen, with a collection of armor-wearing teenagers that looked too official than regular campers. Reyna and Frank were there, along with Hazel and Blake. He saw Reyna stand.

"Soldiers!" she announced. "It is time for the games! Let us begin!"

Reyna held up a bronze goblet and the campers cheered. The noise was deafening. Eddie held her head in the palm of her hand while Polanski rubbed his temples as the campers rushed to collect weapons and other equipment from rack stands that were propped along the walls.

"Aren't we attacking this time?" Aria asked, to no one in particular.

Finn waved a hand. "Hell yeah," he said, side-stepping camper and ducking when a speared pole nearly jabbed him in the eye. "Good this is, we get Hannibal and Chris and _maybe_ Blake. If we stick with my —" Aria coughed without so much as keeping it casual. — "If we stick with _our_ plan, we'll be, you know, okay."

"Helpful," Aria mumbled.

Eddie walked a step behind Polanski and Finn, because they were tall and created a large enough barrier that parted a way through the campers without so much as a struggle. Aria walked beside her, Nico behind them. When they passed by one of the front tables, Polanski noticed Nico slip away. He saw him come up to Hazel and stand by her side. A second later, they were talking.

Polanski's attention was directed away from Nico when Eddie prodded at his lower back.

"Are you ready to not die?" he asked as he looked over his shoulder and down at her.

Eddie inhaled through her nose and sighed out a, "Nope."

Polanski grinned. "Great," he said. _Me neither_.


	10. 10

Eddie and Polanski were immediately taken to the camp's armory following the end of dinner.

Nico di Angelo had volunteered himself to escort them, having found the pair after conversing with Hazel. He led them to the outer edge of the crowd of campers and told them that they needed to be fitted with armor and a weapon if they were to join in the war games, otherwise they would be skewered to death by their own lack of protection and intellect.

The camp's armory was located between the bathhouse and a large grange-like building that was labeled _FORGE_. Outside of the armory were the ghosts of three Roman soldiers, whose appearances were that of their death — an arrow through the eye, a slit throat, and a severed hand. Their wounds were bloodless but, nevertheless, still gruesome. Because she didn't know or care to learn their names, Eddie decided to nickname them based on their wounds: Bullseye, Cutthroat, and Handy.

Bullseye sat on a semi-dilapidated crate, polishing his sword, which was just as much of an apparition as he was. The other two stood by the door, conversing with each other. Cutthroat laughed at something Handy said. Bullseye grinned but didn't look up from cleaning his weapon. They spoke in a language Eddie didn't understand but heard often enough to know what it was: Latin.

When Nico went to walk past them, the three soldiers welcomed him with benign congeniality, something Eddie wasn't expecting. Polanski commented on it in French to her when they thought he wouldn't be able to hear them.

"Perhaps," Eddie replied to him in French, "death doesn't have any more secrets to reveal to us."

Polanski shrugged. "The call of the void, I guess."

"Guys," Nico called from within the armory. "Get in here. I'm not going to wait any longer."

Eddie and Polanski gave each other a look before walking in. Before stepping over the threshold, in her peripheral vision, Eddie saw Bullseye vibrate. For a second, it looked as though his entire form was quivering, like a shudder had gone through his ethereal being. When Eddie turned her head, though, it was simply the ghost of a deceased soldier. Polanski noticed her hesitation and simply gave her a small push inside.

The armory was large, but it was chock-full of bestrewn battle equipment. Metal and leather breastplates were propped on shelves that ran the entire perimeter of the room. Above them were helmets, plumed and ridged. Below the breastplates were leather and metal greaves, all with straps so they could be adjusted accordingly to the wearer's cnemis. A few racks near the back held a number of swords already in their scabbards. An entire wall was dedicated to shields, all hung up and polished, their sizes ranging from dinner platters to refrigerator doors. Four benches were lined up back-to-back in the middle of the room, with a round side table at each end for anything of miscellaneous importance.

Nico sat on one of the benches facing the door, his legs crossed and looking ultimately bored with Polanski and Eddie's gawking. A long black sword was leaned up against the bench by his leg.

He said, "Hurry it up and choose."

Eddie pointed at the sword. "Are you allowed to have that?"

He looked from her to the sword, and then back at her. "Yes," he said simply. "I made it."

"You _made_ it?" Eddie made a flippant gesture with her hand. "Like, you actually forged that thing?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"You're, like, twelve."

"I'm, _like_ , older than you think." Nico stood and grabbed the sword. "I'll be outside. Hurry up and get ready. The cohorts are marching to the Field of Mars and I am not missing the war games because of you guys."

He left then. Eddie could just hear him conversing with the ghosts.

Polanski shoved something heavy into Eddie's arms. She cursed at him but held onto it. It was a leather breastplate, complete with shoulder guards and padding underneath for maximum comfort and protection.

"Try it," Polanski told her. "I'll help with the straps."

"Thanks," Eddie said.

She slipped her arms through one at a time and held the chest against her as Polanski looped the straps through and tightened them. Eddie tested out the armor's durability by jumping up and down, twisting her torso, and bending over to touch her toes. When she stood up straight, Polanski had already picked out his and was already putting it on.

"You look fucking stupid," he said. He turned around and put his arms out. "Now me."

Eddie came up behind him and tried to mimic what he'd done to hers. "I hate this," she said. "I can't get the — never mind. Got it." She tightened the last of the straps and smacked the back of Polanski's shoulder. "There you go."

"Thanks," he said.

While Polanski tested out his breastplate's durability, Eddie scavenged the lower shelves for greaves. She grabbed two pairs and sat down on the bench to put on one of them. When she'd strapped them on, she kicked out her legs and looked them over.

"I just realized," Polanski said. He took a seat beside Eddie and started strapping on the other pair of greaves. "It's like we're all going on ahead to do some huge LARP thing. Like — you know?"

Eddie looked at him and said, "Don't you dare."

He grinned. "Let's role-play our way to victory."

She scrunched up her nose. "Can you not?"

Polanski laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We still have to get weapons, right?"

"Yeah," Eddie said, "and helmets." The two of them stood and walked over to the weapons rack at the back of the room. "I'd rather just not. I'm still sore from training with Blake."

Polanski grabbed the hilt of a _gladius_ and took it out from its post. He fastened it around his waist, so the sword's scabbard hung on his right. "Apparently we have to. I think it's a tradition thing that newcomers do."

Eddie scanned the rack. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with." She pulled out a sword of its post, one that was even shorter than the _gladius_. "At least I can actually hold this one." She wrapped the belt of it around her waist and secured it tight.

Because Eddie wasn't tall enough, Polanski grabbed a helmet for the both of them. When Eddie slipped hers on over her head, the embossed eyebrow ridge sunk low over her eyes, so she had Polanski switch it out for a smaller one. Both helmets were crested with red plumes. Eddie tilted her head back and forth and heard the plume swoosh along with her movements. Polanski reached up to run his hand over the top of his helmet's plume. He grinned.

Polanski and Eddie turned to face each other. They checked and rechecked their armor and greaves. The hoodie Polanski wore bundled awkwardly underneath his breastplate, so he'd pulled the hood out and flipped it up over his head. Eddie's T-shirt bunched uncomfortably at the sleeves, riding them up. Their entire appearance was a strange combination of twenty-first-meets-gladiator apparel, but it was convenient and, more so, safe.

A minute later, Nico came in to check in on them. He gave them a quick look-over.

"Good," he said. "You guys actually did it right. You've done it before?"

Eddie said, "Buckle straps." She delivered the statement matter-of-factly, like it was the answer to life itself.

Nico gave her a questioning look. "What?"

Before Eddie could say something, Polanski interrupted, asking, "Shouldn't we be going to the — the field you mentioned? The Mars one?"

"The Field of Mars," Nico confirmed. "Yeah, okay. Come on."

Nico led Eddie and Polanski out through the Praetorian Gate, the gate that led out of the camp's military provisional encampment toward New Rome. What Nico had called the Field of Mars was a large and flat expanse of valley that was bordered out yonder by a stretch of mountain ridges. The grass was brown and a stiff flooring that, although dead, looked freshly mowed. All around, the ground was pitted with precariously scattered bowl-shaped cavities and long, strait ditches. There were huge wooden stakes that were set up without certain reason all over the field, their tips tapered to a razor-sharp point.

The Second, Fourth, and Sixth Cohorts were situated into three separate groups of rows of three. Two members from each were at the front.

At the right of the mountain ridge was what Eddie assumed to be New Rome. It wasn't that far off, and she could just make out the blurred dots of city lights. Further out, if Eddie squinted hard enough, she could nearly make out a bridge, but with what she knew of ancient Rome from her Classics Mythology class, her assumption ruled it out as an aqueduct. Built on two levels with deep and lengthy depressions along it, it extended far beyond the mountains. But in the aqueduct's line of sight was something Eddie wasn't expecting — a military fortress.

"No," she said. Polanski and Nico looked at her, but they were close enough where she'd also caught the attention of a few legionaries in the ranks of their cohorts. "Nope. Uh-uh. This?" She gestured ardently at the fortress. "This is a death wish. I'd like to keep my life. I can still opt out, right?"

Nico snorted a laugh and said, "Not in your dreams. You've made it this far. Just try not to get yourself killed."

"Your vote of confidence is really helping," she said caustically.

"Can you at least tell us what that is?" Polanski asked.

Nico pulled his bomber jacket tighter on himself. "That's your target," he told them. "You, the Sixth, Second, and Fourth Cohorts are offense in this practice siege. Get the other team's flag and you win the game."

"Like some kind of extreme Capture the Flag?" Polanski looked at Eddie. "Doesn't sound that hard."

"It's not," Nico said, "unless you get injured. Don't do that."

"What do we do?" Eddie asked.

Nico furrowed his eyebrows, obviously irritated that he'd have to repeat what he'd just said. "Like what he said, you have to get the opposing team's —"

"Not the objective. The tactics." Eddie scratched the back of her neck. " _How_ do we do this?"

"That's up to your centurions to decide," he said. "But since the Sixth Cohort isn't really a cohort, just ask a Roman camper. I'm sure they'll help."

Polanski flicked his gaze to Nico. "Thanks," he said. "Are you joining?"

Nico shook his head. "No, I'm observing with Reyna. Look-outs for a fair game and if anyone needs medical assistance or if anyone dies. That sort of thing."

" _Mon dieu_ ," Eddie mumbled.

Polanski shot her a quick glance before looking at Nico. "That's fine. Where's the Sixth Cohort?"

Nico pointed at the third-most mass of orange-wearing campers, all clad in both leather and metal armor, all wearing plumed helmets. "Orange is an easy giveaway. It's the camp's color."

"You've got a point there," Polanski said.

Eddie and Polanski caught up with the rest of the Sixth Cohort. They stood in the back, but because Eddie couldn't hear anything that was being said at the front or see above anyone's head without jumping, she decided to shove her way to the front or until she either found Aria or Finn. Polanski apologized in her drive forward.

Someone caught her shoulder and Eddie's immediate reaction was to swing her elbow back. She'd nearly clocked Aria in the throat, but she'd caught Eddie's arm just before any serious damage could be done.

Aria's eyes were wide under the helmet she wore. "You made it," she said, and let go of Eddie's arm. "And you almost hit your ally. Great start."

Polanski shouldered his way past a few campers. When he came to stand by Aria's side and evaluated the situation, he said to her, "She's sorry."

"No, I'm not," Eddie said. "I'm indifferent." She pointed a finger at Aria. "I'm pinning you to this. What're we doin'?"

"Oh, right." Aria turned around and took a step forward. She paused, however, and looked over her shoulder. "Let me get Issac. He's better at explaining this stuff." She turned back around and left, slipping past bodies nearly twice her size. Eddie was glad that she wasn't the shortest among those she'd met anymore.

"She's getting who?" Polanski asked.

"Issac," Eddie said. "I just hope he's not blind."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think he'd be blind?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "It's a feeling."

"Your feelings are terrible."

"Only when I'm not sober."

Aria showed up a minute later. Following right behind her was a boy almost a head taller than her. His hair was the color of dirt and in an ultimate state of bedhead. His skin was a few shades darker than tan, and while one eye was a bright amber, the other was a dull brown. Heterochromia. But they were clouded, foggy, distant.

Eddie slapped Polanski's arm. "I fucking told you!"

"Told me what?" he demanded, a little taken aback by the sudden hit.

"Ivan — no. Issac?" The boy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah. You're blind, aren't you?"

Issac stared at Eddie. "No?"

Eddie sagged her shoulders, disappointed.

Aria looked between the three of them. "Well, he can explain the siege. Larry and Hank are debriefing plans. Good luck." She disappeared into the crowd of Greeks and Romans, now that all three cohorts had merged into one big mass.

Issac was shouldered aside by a passing Roman camper. He said, "Let's get to the edge. I'll explain there."

At the edge of the crowd, it was just as loud, but there was more breathing room to move and speak.

Polanski was first, saying, "Nico pretty much told us. It's like Capture the Flag, or something."

"Yeah," Issac agreed, "kind of like that. But there's something else." He held up three fingers on each hand. "We've got the enemy —" he shook his left hand "— and we've got us." He shook his right. "Before, there were five, but ever since we've buddied with the Greeks, we get the Sixth. Even.

"We pitch three against three. Tonight, we do siege. We block. They attack. No. Sorry. We attack. They block." Issac stretched at the back of his neck. "You have to get the flags first."

"Who are _we_?" Eddie asked.

Issac looked at her. "Two. Three. Six."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Two. Three — what?" It took a moment, but Eddie realized that he was talking about the cohorts. "I thought it was the Fourth," she said.

"Reyna changed it," he said.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. All for all."

Polanski rubbed the side of his nose. "Continue," he said.

"Right…" Issac glanced down at the ground for a minute's thought. Just over the ruckus of noise from the mass of Greek and Roman campers, Eddie could hear a few voices speaking up; something about formations and infantry tactics. Issac continued: "This time we get Hannibal. He's the elephant used during the games."

"And that's it?" Polanski asked. "Get the banner and get out?"

"Sort of. Not only are you trying to get the opposing cohort's banner, but you're doing this while going against your own allying cohorts." Issac spread his fingers and entwined them together. "It's pretty much a dog eat dog game."

"Fantastic," Eddie said with fake enthusiasm.

Issac dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. "It shouldn't be that bad. You guys're new to it. Maybe they can put you in the back as a call-up."

Polanski cocked his head a little. "A call-up?"

"Barrier troops," he reasoned. " _Triarii_. They're held in the back as — what do you call it?" Issac tipped his head to the side. Eddie wondered whether or not any of this was worth her time. And then, suddenly, he said, "What's another word for _think_?"

Polanski said, "Um," and then looked down at Eddie. "To strategize, maybe?"

Issac smiled. His teeth were straight. "Strategy men!"

Eddie arched a brow. "Strategy men?"

"You know," he said. "Back-holders."

She flicked her fingers in his direction and said, "You're not making any fucking sense."

"He's making perfect sense." Polanski looked at her. "You're being a bitch."

"Sorry," Issac apologized.

Eddie wouldn't atone to the fact that she felt guilty for having him apologize for something he didn't do, so she didn't mean it when she caught the odious tone in her voice when she said to him, "Don't say that. Keep it in your fucked up head."

Issac looked hurt. Eddie felt terrible.

Polanski clasped the back of her neck and pressed his fingers hard into her skin, demanding that she apologize. Eddie bit the inside of her cheek and ducked out of Polanski's reach. She'd make it up to Issac one way or another, but one insult wasn't going to break him. As far as Eddie was concerned, she had plenty of time. She wanted to do it on her own terms when she wasn't being forced.

Almost immediately, voices were being yelled and bodies were being moved. All at once, the single mass of three cohorts began separating into their given ranks. Issac ignored Eddie and wished Polanski good luck before returning to the Third Cohort. At the front of everything, a small group of campers huddled together. Polanski maneuvered Eddie toward where the Greek campers were. For reasons beknown to either of them, they found Jav and Chris.

"Hey," Chris greeted at their arrival. "You guys look good. Nothing's crooked."

"Buckle straps," Eddie said.

Jav grinned and held up his sword. "Ready for this?"

"Oh, yeah," she deadpanned. "Ready to die, for sure."

Polanski nudged her arm. He looked at Jav. "Sort of," he said. "Issac told us that it's pretty much everyone for themselves."

"Oh, definitely." Jav held up a hand and made the universal O.K. sign. "But it's great. You'll learn a lot from it. Battle tactics. Teamwork. Strategic thinking."

"And as long as we're not in the first rank," Chris said. "That's the absolute worst position to be in. It's equivalent to a pawn in chess."

"I'm kind of jealous," Jav said. "Ever since Gaia's defeat, the Fifth's been the prized cohort to be in. I mean, they've got Hazel and Frank. A witch and a damn shifter. I'm not sure we're gonna win this one."

"Gaia," Eddie deadpanned. "Defeated."

Jav's reply was simple: "Yes."

"As in the actual earth goddess?" Polanski asked.

Chris looked at him. "You don't know much, do you?"

"Apparently not… What happened?"

"Too much to say," Jav said. "Too little time to dwell. We still have to deal with Finn's plan first. If it works out this time."

Chris pursed his lips in displeasure. "We're doomed either way."

"Whose plan was it at the gym?" Eddie asked. She was speaking to Jav, but Chris chimed in with a, "What gym?"

Jav raised an eyebrow. "Kingsmen? That was mine. We used flash bombs. Hence the temporary blindness. Sorry 'bout that."

"Flash bombs don't kill."

Jav looked at Eddie and didn't drop his gaze. When it was apparent that he was waiting for her to understand what she'd just said, Eddie flicked her attention to Polanski and then back at Jav. The ordinary assured line of her mouth was twisted into something troubled.

"Flash bombs don't kill," she said again. And then, with more malice: "You're a fucking liar."

Polanski hooked his fingers underneath the back collar of Eddie's armor and yanked her to his side. Jav sent her a smug look.

Suddenly, horns blew. Eddie used the apparent distraction to take her helmet off and chuck it at the back of Jav's head. But he, too, wore a helmet but took a heavy step forward from the force of the impact. He turned around and caught the wild look in Eddie's eye.

A sly finger plucked a taut, anxious ligament within her. When Eddie blinked, the off-image of a camper in her peripheral vision seemed wrong, almost out of place. Too narrow. Too tall. No color; only the black edges of sight and withdrawal.

 _Not now_ , Eddie thought; desperately thought.

At a second glance, a second blink, nothing was strange at all.

Finn and Aria were soon to join and interfered between the stand-off. Polanski pulled Eddie aside and whispered to her in vicious French, "What the hell was that about?"

"Nothing," she said to him in English.

"Hey," Finn said assertively. "Can we all get along? Especially now? Great. So, here's the plan!" The last part he yelled, and the Sixth Cohort gathered around him and Aria. "We're splitting the cohorts up into three separate maniples. Greeks with Romans; Romans with Greeks. The first will be Wedge. Second will be Testudo. And third will be Cannae."

"Since we're attacking in cohorts," Aria said, "Larry will lead the wedge formation. Hank and Javael will lead the testudo formation. And Finn and Chris will lead the Cannae. We've got to break through their front lines and those ballistas before we can reach the fortress. _Me aftó í se aftó_!"

The Sixth Cohort erupted in an uproar of cheers and swords clashing against armor and shields. They broke into their situated ranks. Jav looked over his shoulder and gave Eddie a cheeky grin before shooting Polanski and her a two-fingered salute. He bounded off to wherever Hank was.

Eddie said, "I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not," Polanski said. "Let's just see what we can do."

Aria and Finn were directing a few chosen Greek and Roman campers, either changing their positions from the back lines to the front or vise versa. Aria spotted them first. She told the camper she was talking to — Trevor, or something — that Finn would take care of explaining his role, and broke off to meet with Eddie and Polanski.

She said, "So, you guys know what to do?" at the same time Polanski asked, "What do we need to do?"

"Oh." Aria looked between the two of them. "Well, first off, don't go throwing your helmet like that. It's for your protection." Eddie shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "Finn and I are splitting up the Romans and Greeks into more equal groups. The Second Cohort is one of the largest, same with the Third, so we have to shake them down."

"I thought it wasn't a team sport," Polanski said. "Every cohort to itself."

Aria shrugged. "Yeah, but… it's better if we work together."

"Which is why I'm splitting the two of you up." Finn came to stand by Aria's side. He looked at neither Eddie nor Polanski when he said, "Polanski, Blake says you're decent with a sword. I'm putting you in with Chris and me. We'll be the last to advance."

Polanski looked uncertain. "That's fine," he said, "but —"

"Eddie," Aria said, "you're with me. We're going to be at the front with Larry and Issac." Eddie pursed her lips but didn't say anything. "It's our job to break through the opposing team's defense, so the rest —" she gestured between Polanski and Finn "— can pretty much overwhelm them."

Finn scratched his elbow. "Do we want to get the Mural Crown this time?"

"What's the Mural Crown?" Polanski asked.

"Some metal," he said. "You get it if you get over the fort's wall first. Kind of like a pat on the back for breaching their defenses."

"It's pretty important," Aria chimed in. "At least, for the Romans it is. We haven't been able to get it. Not yet. We're going to try tonight."

Finn arched his eyebrows and gave her a side glance. Not quite looking at her, but acknowledged what she'd said. "Tonight? Well, fine. If we can."

"You guys don't have a lot of confidence in yourselves," Eddie said. "Who're leading the front lines?"

"Larry and me," Aria said. "Were you even listening?"

Eddie tilted her head to the side as if she were pondering the thought. Eventually, she said, "No."

Aria looked ready to argue, but Finn spoke up before she had the chance to tell Eddie off. "I think it's time we got started." He placed a hand on Polanski's shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

Eddie had never felt so overwrought than when Larry shoved a shield that was nearly half her height in her hand and told her: "Saddle up, newbie. Time to look alive." He sent her a wink and a half grin before jogging down the front line to yell out encouragements in Latin to his fellow legionaries. Aria had been unfruitful in deciding where Eddie would be held, positioning her in the last row, surrounded by a hoard of strangers who towered over her.

In her armor, Eddie felt heavy and uncomfortable. The breastplate and the greaves all seemed to add an extra ten pounds that she wasn't used to carrying. The helmet skewed the sides of her vision. The sword felt awkward in her hand — too heavy, the tip pointing downward. The shield was the heaviest; Eddie planned on ditching it as soon as they made it to the fortress. Eddie didn't look back to see if she could try and find Polanski. Instead, when the signal was given; it was a very long and high-pitched whistle that came from somewhere at the front, she squared her shoulders and marched forward with the rest of the Second Cohort.

Two thoughts became coexistent in Eddie's head. One was the real image: a hoard of maybe thirty or forty teenaged campers advancing in a triangular formation toward a heavily guarded military fortress that was fit with a lot of weapons Eddie only ever saw in movies. The other was a false image, a possibility: the Second Cohort breaking ranks and scattering due to a faulty shot of a ballista, the iron cap finding Eddie, killing her on impact.

Her throat was tight. Her chest ached.

"Hey."

A voice from someone Eddie didn't know was right beside her, the timbre of it strange and initially unrecognizable. Eddie didn't turn to look at whoever was trying to talk to her. Without her glasses, her vision was obscured, but only from afar. She saw bodies of campers moving back and forth at the base of the fortress, aligning themselves accordingly with the Second Cohort. Something creaked, far ahead. And then a high _twang!_ And then —

"Hey!"

There was heavy movement. Eddie heard the clang of metal bouncing off of metal, very close together. Something shoved Eddie aside. The shield was heavier than she could withstand, and so she toppled on her side. She felt it first, something move in her elbow. A tendon, maybe, hopefully. But it hurt. Stung. It rippled up her forearm to the tips of her fingers like static.

Issac stood above her, clad in armor like all the rest. He was holding up a shield above him. Two metal rods with huge arrowheads were embedded in the ground at his feet. Eddie didn't know if there were supposed to have been three altogether, but a third arrow-headed bolt had lodged itself through Issac's shield, the tip mere inches from his head.

"You're an idiot," Issac said. He turned around and offered a hand to help Eddie up. "Are you okay?"

Eddie didn't know how to describe how it felt, to inadvertently predict a death that was seconds from happening, to know that in a bat of an eye, she could have gone from "being okay" to "being dead." She looked at his outstretched hand, contemplated between apologizing or coming up with an excuse for her earlier behavior, and then swatted his hand away. Eddie discarded her shield and helped herself to stand.

"Thanks," she said, sounding forced, but she meant it.

Issac regarded her with narrowed eyes. Eddie took that as a sign that she was far from being on his good side anytime soon.

He pointed at the fortress. "We're behind. Let's get it over."

Eddie wanted to ask, _Get what over?_ but she was more concerned with finishing the war games as soon as possible. She wasn't sure how much time had passed; it could have been a minute, five minutes, half an hour. Eddie had a sneaking suspicion that Issac wanted this done as much as she did, maybe less obvious about it, but still so.

She retrieved her sword from where she'd dropped it when falling and sheathed it in its scabbard at her side. Her arms were still sore from Blake's training, but she disregarded all protest her muscles gave in favor of picking up the shield she thought she wouldn't have needed.

Issac was in a hurry, at least that was what Eddie could tell when he grabbed her arm and pulled her with him toward the fortress with the rest of the Second Cohort. The only way Eddie could tell the difference between who was against who were the plumed and rimmed helmets the campers wore. Plumed: offense. Rimmed: defense. It couldn't have been any easier than that. At the main gates of the fortress, shields were up when the defending team shot flaming arrows from machines that looked like huge crossbows.

By the time Eddie and Issac caught up with the front line, the Third and Sixth Cohorts were already marching their way forward. The Second had engaged themselves in what looked like an all-out war with the defending line of campers. They attacked the left-most flanks, breaking through the offensive ranks and rolling up the line to work over from the rear.

Three campers with rimmed helmets sprinted past them. Eddie's mental narrative took their defensive position as being an excuse to do the following: she crouched, bringing the shield back, and used the rim as a battering ram to knock the closest camper off his feet. He fell, his sword clambering out of his hand. His helmet came off when he hit the back of his head on the ground.

Issac whistled. "Nicely done."

Eddie stood but was nearly knocked off her feet when a tremor shook the ground. A large and heavy shadow swallowed up everyone in its wake. Eddie didn't have to look behind her to know what it was, all she had to do was look up. Up, up, up. The trunk and the tusks gave it away. Issac had mentioned that the attacking cohorts would acquire Hannibal, the elephant used during the games, but seeing and hearing were two different aspects.

Hannibal the elephant wore what Eddie thought looked like a bulletproof vest, specially designed to personally fit him. His face was covered with plated armor. An allied camper rode on his neck and lifted her sword and shield above her head. When she yelled, Hannibal let out a ghastly sound, something between a trumpet and an airhorn, and charged forward. Such a charge was based on pure force; Hannibal crashed into the defending enemy line, trampling and swinging his tusks. Those who were smart enough were knocked aside or forced back. The Third Cohort advanced then, parting around Hannibal and charging to aid the Second Cohort. Eddie saw even the very disciplined of Roman campers break ranks and flee.

The entire exchange was a clash of pandemonium. Bodies moved in uncoordinated movements. Arms were swung gripping the hilts of swords. The grating clamor of metal striking metal vibrated the eardrums. The earth shook to Hannibal's continuous strives at scattering the defending lines. Eddie followed Issac through it all. Their teamwork was discreet and imperceptible, but it was enough to get them past defending campers and snared bolts.

Something exploded to the far right. Chunks of dirt and dead grass were launched precariously, causing both sides to get hit.

Issac said something, Eddie didn't know what, but it was apparent he meant the main gates. There weren't many guarding it. Maybe four, give or take a few standing at their hand. Eddie tried to remember what she'd learned from Blake's training, but the only thing she could remember from their late-morning session was sore arms and Blake making a fool out of her. If there was anything Eddie was good at, it was her insistent provocation and what Blake had called her "false bravado."

Adrenaline was both superficial and atrocious all in the same. Eddie had the urge to go, go, go. Her peripheral vision skewered with the intent of one objective: taking out those guarding the main gate. While Eddie worked face-to-face with one guard, Issac managed with another.

Eddie ducked beneath a swiped blade. She breathed out, pivoted on the balls of her feet, and punched the kid clean across the face. His head snapped to the side, staggering in that direction. Another kid guarding, maybe a friend of his, stopped himself from charging Eddie and physically flinched when knuckles met jaw. He looked at her and held up his hands.

"Fine," he said. "Fine, fine. Let me just — gods. Let me just help him." He settled his weapon and shield on the ground by his feet. He came up to the kid, checked his pulse, and when he was sure he was still alive, hooked an arm around his middle and hoisted him to his feet.

"Brutal."

Eddie jerked at Issac's sudden acknowledgment of himself. She looked at him, a crease between her brows.

"Don't do that," she said, and then looked ahead. "I really should have listened to Blake. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You're honest, at least."

In front of the both of them, the fortress's west wall loomed. The fortification was constructed in a way that impeded escalation. Those who were smart brought ladders, but it seemed as though the defenders above were even smarter.

There were two-floor openings between the supporting corbels of each battlement. Each was manned by at least one to two defenders. If anyone from the opposing cohorts came forth, they would drop anything down upon them: ice-cold water, heavy rocks, and even maple syrup.

"Oh!" one camper exclaimed. She'd gotten herself into a very sticky situation, having been doused with syrup from head to toe. "Gross! This is going to take _days_ to get out!"

"Sorry!" hollered down a defender, who then proceeded to pour another barrel of syrup over the edge. This time the girl dodged out of the way. Not that she needed to, though.

Issac looked up, up, up the western wall, narrowing his mismatched eyes. Eddie followed his gaze and, just past the farthest edge of the fortification, was Aria. She was on the ground, with two to three other allying campers surrounding her, fending off attacks from any of the defending Romans. In her hand was a long, thick rope that coiled into a small pile at her feet. She held the rope about a foot from the grappling hook that was attached to the end of it and swung it in a large circle around her body.

After a few good swings, Aria released the hook at an appropriate angle, in which it made a designated arch towards the very top of the fortress. It must have stuck because Aria gave the rope a good couple tugs and it didn't give.

One part of Eddie saw Aria climbing up the knotted rope, one foot-hold at a time, and making it over the battlement without any complications.

The second part of Eddie saw Aria halfway up the knotted rope, one foot poised on a haphazardly lopsided foot-hold, one vigorous-gripped hand clasped with pressed-white knuckles, with an arrow aimed at her heart and a staggering landing to the ground below her.

The third part of Eddie saw an opposing Roman camper with a _gladius_ as they braced their blade beneath the rope, cutting it until the fibers tore apart and allowed Aria to fall the rest of the way down.

The fourth part of Eddie realized these second-thought visions was her mind overthinking the grand possibilities. She turned to Issac, telling herself that she needed a distraction. Issac was no longer at her side, but rather inching his way towards the unguarded gates of the fortress. Eddie followed after him.

"Okay," she said as she caught up with him. "What now?"

Issac side-stepped a pair of campers who were caught in a coupled battle of the fittest. He crouched low and reached out to grab a shield. He'd lost his, apparently. Eddie hadn't been paying much attention. Issac hauled it up.

"We brace ourselves," he said and then covered himself with the shield.

At first Eddie didn't understand, but it didn't take her long to figure it out. One minute there was just the cacophony of metallic clamber, and the next: a large, aching split of something very hard barreling into something very much made out of wood.

Eddie raised her shield, straining her arm against its weight. Wooden shrapnel was blown outward and to the sides. Although their faces and upper bodies were unharmed, Eddie could feel the sharp pieces graze her thighs.

 _I'm going to regret this_ , she told herself. _I should have stayed in bed today_.

"Hold!"

Issac started to lower his shield, so Eddie did the same.

"Ready!"

Aria was just beginning to climb up the eastern corner of the fortress. The green-haired boy from earlier made an attempt on attacking her as she was busy fastening a foot to a foot-hold, but he didn't even get within ten feet of her before Finn appeared before him and swatted his sword out of his grip and swept him to off of his feet in one fluid motion.

"Aim!"

Eddie spotted Polanski in the mottled sea of plumed and rimmed helmets. He was a ways off, huddled between a three-way quarrel of him defending himself against two rimmed-hamlet Romans and trying not to get himself squashed by Hannibal.

"Fire!"

Two arrows were launched from either side of Hannibal, both directly aimed towards the fortress, right above the battlements.

All at once, Eddie noticed multiple things:

How dark it had gotten since the start of the war games.

How the arrowheads weren't regular metal but rather rocket-nose-shaped and bulbous.

How her breathing was drowned out by the clashing of metal against metal in the field.

How hot and how uncomfortable it was to wear a sweater while running around.

How incredibly attractive some of the campers were.

The bulbous rocket-nose-shaped arrowheads cracked, flashing superficial light from within them. There was a distinct, echo-like popping sound that followed. And then the entirety of the sky was flooded with such a bright, blinding light that nearly everyone close enough had to shield their eyes, even those far off in the rear quarters of the formations.

Eddie ducked beneath their shield. Tendrils of light veered past the shield itself. The entire thing was tremendous.

There was the sound of movement, of feet scrapping against rutted, dead grass, and Eddie followed.

Tried to follow, at least.

The battle had gone to hand-to-hand and had settled closer to the base of the fortress than was comfortably necessary for the defending cohorts. Distinguishing sides via helmet type didn't seem like a good idea after most campers had lost theirs the further they fought. Eddie thought hers was a pain in the ass anyway, but that didn't stop someone from the offshoots of the fight to try and plunge their sword at her.

Eddie still had her shield up, because the light was still blinding up above, and with a simple pivot to try and see where Issac had gone off to, something heavy hit and she was forced to the side from the impact.

"Hey!" she yelped and then unsheathed her own sword in an attempt to ward them away.

The thing about being new and on the opposing team was that it seemed as though you were always the target, even though Eddie had no idea what she was doing. She just kept going, following where Issac had gone, hoping people would leave her alone long enough to _not_ get killed this time around.

This lasted a whole minute before Eddie caught up to Issac.

Shields were up and hooked together like a walled screen on either side of this wooden structure that Eddie thought was a battering ram. It was this immense beam, like the kind from a ship's mast, with the end facing the gates covered with a huge slab of iron that was in the shape of a ram's head. The entire thing was suspended from another beam like a balance arm by cables around its middle, which was then supported at both ends by posts fixed in the ground.

It took nearly ten campers to draw the ram back, who then all pushed it forward in unison with as much strength that they could give while simultaneously worrying about any defending campers attacking them.

The ram's head struck the closed gates.

There was a rumbling noise within the fortress.

The ram's head struck the closed gates a second time.

There was a low, trumpet-like noise from within the fortress.

Someone yelled, at the top of their lungs, "Again!" and, at the same time the ram's iron head struck the main gate, the heavy wooden doors splintered and Hannibal came barging out.

No. Hannibal was situated at the rear of the battering ram. This was just another elephant. How it had managed to stay inside the fortress was beyond Eddie. It was much too big for it to fit inside of it, anyway.

Campers scattered. The battering ram was crushed into a shredded mess of fractured wood. Nothing was worth any use. This new elephant mirrored Hannibal, albeit the armor. It charged forward and head-butted right into Hannibal. Trunks were swung. Tusks were thrust.

"Oh, what —"

The blinding light still resided like the sunniest evening there was. It had dulled down enough where one didn't need to cover their eyes. And it was an enough distraction, along with the sudden arrival of the second elephant, that Eddie took the opportunity to head straight for the gate's busted opening.

Getting inside the fortress was a trap.

Everything seemed like a trap nowadays.

The First and Fourth Cohort standard-bearers sat around a table playing some card game. There was the girl who wore the lion's pelt, which was currently draped over the back of the chair she sat in. The pole with the golden eagle she'd held before was leaned up against the wall behind her. There was also the boy who wore the wolf's pelt, who still wore it as a headdress with the wolf's mouth engulfing his head. The LEGXX pole he'd held earlier was perched beside's the girl's pole.

But it wasn't them Eddie was worried about.

Blake was among them, along with Jav. For some reason, it had never occurred to her that they'd be guarding the banners, which were lined up precariously against the back wall with the other two standards.

Issac came up beside Eddie and narrowed his eyes, blinking, probably due to the sudden change of brightness.

"Oh," he said, then looked at Eddie. "We're done for."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, I've said this before, but I apologize for not updating in such a long time. Stuff's been happening, but at this point, it doesn't really matter, since the chapter's up now.**

 **A couple characters were either cut due to either time and/or plot-line.**

 **Apparently these chapter take me longer to write, especially between work and school, but I'll try not to leave it on such a long hiatus.**

 **This chapter was more of a War Games: Part 1, so you can expect the next chapter to be a Part 2.**


	11. 11

It was difficult to not be intimidated when Blake wore what she did — twin gothic-esque gauntlets; matte black; fluted, engraved and pierced overall. While the left had a splint vambrace that extended to cover the outer third of her arm, the right had a rerebrace that was attached to a ram-headed spaulder. The combat boots that Blake wore made it look like she was taller than she probably was. It didn't help that Blake also wore the standard body armor, greaves, and rimmed helmet. Suspended from her sword belt was a leather scabbard with a golden hilt protruding from it.

 _Oh_ , Eddie thought. _This is not good_.

Issac, who stood beside her, had his shield in one hand and a bronze sword in the other. Eddie, herself, felt ridiculous wearing all this heavy armor and wielding all this heavy weaponry. It this were an acrimonious dispute, she wouldn't have been afraid to use her fists. But this sphere of influence called for heavy combat.

There was a pregnant pause, one that called for an awkward respite of silence.

The standard-bearers looked at Issac and Eddie with dumbfounded expressions. Jav grinned, almost like he was expecting the intrusion. Blake wore what Eddie assumed was an appealed look.

Eddie just wanted the war games to be over.

She counted to five in her head.

The war games were not over.

The two standard-bearers stood, raking their chairs back. They drew golden swords (Eddie was starting to think that maybe that was the standard weapon around here) and moved forward. If this were a video game, they would have been the first wave of pawns to get through and either Blake or Jav was the boss. The banners were the spoils.

But this wasn't a video game.

"Oh," Blake said. "You made it. I was starting to think you'd been lost out there."

Eddie blinked at her, but her main focus was on the guy with the wolf pelt.

Wolf-Man.

Howlett.

Mutt.

She couldn't think of a good enough name to call him, so Eddie settled on 'Wolf-Man,' because it was the most generic name to call him at this moment.

Issac moved forward in a way that was not Issac-like. Or maybe Eddie thought it was not Issac-like. The girl who'd worn the lion pelt (Lion-Girl, Eddie decided to call her) took a heavy step forward. She swung her sword like it was an extension of her entire arm, arching it in a way where it struck in a diagonal slash.

Eddie didn't have time to witness the outcome of it, what Issac planned to do, because Wolf-Man came at her with the dynamism of a strenuous man-at-arms. It was placid and seemingly smooth.

Wolf-Man thrusted his sword forward. Eddie maneuvered her shield in front of her while directing her entire body to the side.

 _I can do this._

Eddie used the strength in her arms to move the shield so it clashed against Wolf-Man's sword. This clambered it to the side, and so she followed through with thrusting the shield in that direction. It didn't knock the weapon out of his hand as Eddie thought it might, but the drive did leave him open. Literally. His arms were wide, like he was yearning for a bear-hug.

 _I can do this._

Wolf-Man dragged his sword up. Eddie dropped the shield and held her _gladius_ like a baseball bat and met his before it could make contact with her shoulder.

 _I can do this._

Eddie could not do this.

Not only did she have little to no swordsmanship experience, but keeping track of what was currently going on as well as what might happen next was beyond her ability.

"Oh, gods," Eddie heard Jav say. "It's hard watching this."

"This might be a learning experience for her," Blake said.

From her peripheral vision, Eddie saw Jav turn his head to look at Blake. "This whole teacher thing you got going on is kind of concerning."

Blake's reply was silence.

 _I have to do this._

Being cut with the sharp-edge of a sword wasn't at all like it was in the movies. Eddie had watched scenes where the protagonist would get injured and, she supposed from that surge of pain, they received a kick of adrenaline that had them this fighting machine, plowing through enemy lines.

Eddie didn't receive that kind of strength. However, the part of her brain that didn't want her to die tuned on to the fight channel rather than the flight one. The irritated pain Eddie felt below her right shoulder dulled tremendously.

Wolf-Man struck again, this time thrusting his sword at the center of her chest. Eddie moved, ducking and then leaned left. She caught his wrist in her grasp and twisted clockwise. Wolf-Man's _gladius_ dropped from his hand and onto the ground. Eddie clenched her left hand into a tight fist and punched him in the jaw.

It wasn't hard enough to knock him out. Soon enough, Issac had him in a chokehold, with an arm wrapped around his neck. He hit him with the butt of his sword to the temple. _That_ was what knocked Wolf-Man out cold.

"Oh," Eddie breathed out. She looked at Wolf-Man's crumpled form, where he had fallen beside Lion-Girl's unconscious body.

Issac wasn't that bad of a fighter after all.

Currently, both of them were breathing hard. Eddie felt a pang of anxiety welt up inside of her stomach, because the pawns had been dealt with, and now it was time for the final boss battle.

The sight of the banners just casually leaning up against the back wall had Eddie yearning that the war games would just end.

Blake's eyes shown like storm clouds right before a lightning hit. It was enthralling and menacing all in the same.

"Not bad," she said, not bothering to draw her sword. Jav, on the other had, drew his black-bladed katana. Blake cocked her head to the side slightly. "But you're not as good as you should be."

Eddie let out a helpless laugh, which was more breath than voice. "You've got to be kiddin' me," she said. "After all that and you —"

"I'm not here to guide you through every little step." Blake reached up and removed her helmet. She shook her hair out and tossed the helmet aside, like it was the least of her problems. It most likely was. "Everyone has potential, Eddie, and you're wasting yours with every breath you take."

A heartbeat. A breath. Irritation boiled in her chest.

"This game is over. We'll take the banners now."

Finn stood at the base of the ladder that more than likely led up to the battlement of the fortress. He wielded neither a seeing cane or a trident but a silver longsword. His green eyes were misted over like usual, his stare at no one in particular.

Eddie hadn't seen him enter through the busted opening. Maybe he'd scaled the fortress and came in through the manhole at the top.

Finn turned toward Issac and made a generic gesture of _Come here_.

He said, "Aria needs you at the top."

At this, Issac exchanged looks with Eddie before jogging past Finn and ascending the ladder.

Jav did this elaborate twirl with his sword, most likely to show off, and said, "Oh, baby, you gotta come and get them first."

Finn gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were pressed white and he charged at Jav. He swung and Jav caught his blow with an underhand one of his ow. Eddie tried to get out of their way. The keep was large length- and width-wise where two people fighting wouldn't be so hard.

Eddie blinked, and then ducked.

A blade grazed over her head, a golden blur. Blake was a popped blade of a box-cutter that someone forgot to sheath, and it was Eddie that found herself within its proximity. This half-human-half-god of imperial likeness that drove herself to the edge of beatified glory.

Eddie readied her _gladius_ with two hands. It was the only way she could hold it properly without it getting too heavy. She swung, cutting the air in a diagonal line. Blake took a single step back with her right foot, turning her entire body to the side.

Miss.

Eddie swiped her sword horizontally, aiming for Blake's throat. But all she did was roll her head forward and the blade swept clean over the top of her head.

Miss.

Swing.

Miss.

Thrust.

Miss.

Eddie had no technique and kept swinging her sword like a desperate bat aiming for a thrown ball. Blake had obvious technique and kept dodging without even lifting a single finger. But maybe boredom got the better of her, because after Eddie swung and missed and swung back again, Blake pivoted her left foot and ducked under Eddie's second swipe.

Eddie had just enough time to turn around before she saw Blake followthrough with a complicated arrangement of movements that consisted of her unsheathing her sword and twirling it in a way so that her next advancement was from up over her head.

Now with every swing and attempted thrust, Blake countered by clashing her sword against Eddie's. The two moved backwards, with Eddie gaining ground as she pushed Blake back.

Neither of them spoke and Eddie was keenly aware of Finn and Jav's own personal quarrel not too far away from them.

Eventually, somehow, Eddie managed to knock Blake's sword out of her hand. She was barely paying attention to her own movements by this point, and so she swung again, not leaving Blake any reaction time to prepare herself.

How wrong she was to overestimate herself.

There was no possible way the student could ever surpass the teacher.

Blake did something. Eddie wasn't sure what it was exactly. The movement was too fast to make note of, but once she slashed her sword at Blake's head a second time, she ducked and then she was wielding a smaller blade in her right hand. Eddie took that opportunity to reach out with her left hand to grasp Blake's wrist, but that _thing_.

One moment and the dagger was in her right hand and the next it was in her left.

Eddie pointed the tip of her sword at Blake's face at the same time Blake pressed the dagger's blade against Eddie's throat.

Labored breathing. Heavy. Sweat. The smell of it had Eddie scrunching her nose up just a bit. But there was also that metallic fetor of blood that seeped in. At first, Eddie thought maybe she'd nicked Blake and it was her who was bleeding. But she didn't see any visible woulds and she was sure she hadn't even laid a single hit.

It wasn't until Eddie remembered Wolf-Man grazing her shoulder earlier did she realize that it was _her_ who was bleeding. She felt nauseous just thinking about it.

Eddie just now realized how close she was to Blake. She could feel how warm her breath was against the side of her face.

Why did everyone have to be so damn tall?

Their eyes met. Blake's expression was pleasant with an inkling of wistfulness, though her eyes told a different story. Eddie felt caught, fish-hooked and stuck, and couldn't unhinge herself from this fanciful hope.

Blake reached around with her right hand and gripped Eddie's forearm.

"Sorry about this," she said, before giving a hard twist.

Eddie hissed, tearing her gaze from Blake's. A heated sense of pain shot up her arm and her immediate reaction was to try and yank her arm away.

Blake put her dagger back into its sheath and bunched her hand into a fist. The backhand protection of her gauntlet became pronounced just above the knuckles.

Oh.

 _Oh._

Blake brought her arm back and then swung her fist forward.

Eddie flinched and shut her eyes.

She only had one thought in mind: _I don't want to get hit_.

One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

Eddie peeked her eyes open. Blake still stood in front of her; she could feel the tight grip on her arm, but something was off. Blake wouldn't have missed. She _couldn't_ have. Blunt force from that close of a range would have knocked Eddie out, and if that hadn't worked, then she'd at least be stunned.

Blake's eyes were wide; taken aback, but Eddie wasn't sure why.

 _Why_.

Why hadn't Eddie been struck?

Why did Blake look so shocked?

Why was there white mist everywhere?

"Uhm," Eddie started, but she guessed that was what Blake needed to snap out of whatever trance she was in, back from inner workings and into reality.

Blake looked at Eddie the same as she had before: appeal, but this time it was warped in a way that gave equal cause to discretion and displeasure. It was not a look Eddie was pleased with receiving, especially with how much the tables have turned.

There was a crash, the sound of wood splitting, and that ruined the moment between both of them.

Blake did not take her eyes off of Eddie, but Eddie turned her head and then looked up in time to see two legionaries fumble their way down the ladder that probably led all the way up to the battlements of the fortress. They held their hands above their heads, almost as if they'd been caught by police and were being arrested.

At first Eddie thought they were the defenders from the top and Aria and Issac had gotten the better of them. A second look had both Aria and Issac with their hands raised. Hazel followed closely behind them, a golden sword that was nearly a foot longer than the general _gladii_ aimed at the back of Issac's neck. Behind Hazel was a girl who had a bronze-tipped arrow nocked, aimed at the back of Aria's neck.

Eddie looked back to Blake, who had the most smug look she'd ever seen on someone.

"These two did a great job overthrowing the battlement," Hazel said. She led Aria and Issac to ground-level and had the other girl watch them so they wouldn't try to escape. She turned and looked over at Blake. "Blake, come on. We got them where we want them. They're not going to get those banners."

Blake pursed her lips. She gave Eddie a once-over before letting her go and pushing her back. It wasn't like she had the strength to fight back; Eddie was too tired to continue.

There was an _umph_ of a grunt, the _whoosh_ of something hard moving through air, and a _thunk_ of that hard thing hitting something else that was hard and sticking.

Finn and Jav were still preoccupied with their own battle, but it had gotten to the point where someone would have to break them up soon.

At one point, Finn smashed his fist into the side of Jav's face, staggering him backwards, but he just gripped the front straps of Finn's armor and propelled him toward the ladder. It only took Finn a moment to get himself back on his feet. His knee found Jav's gut. Doubled over, he snatched a hand toward Finn. His fingers passed harmlessly over Finn's head. It get him back just half a second. Jav crashed his skull into Finn's face.

There was more blood than there needed to be.

The area around Jav's right eye, the outer part of where his brow and temple were, was raw, almost like someone had taken sandpaper and just rubbed it against his face. The blood from that wound had smeared down the side of his face and on his cheek. Finn's nose bled profusely, so much so that it spread against his teeth and dripped down to his chin.

"Hey!" Blake called at them, but it looked like they were setting to go for another round that neither of them had any intention of finishing.

Blake had to physically get between the two of them. Eddie only helped to reel Finn back from breaking Jav's nose.

The sound of horns being blown halted all action.

The war games were over.

Someone cleared their throat and all heads turned to look at the busted opening. Frank stood at the entrance looking almost worse for wear. His armor was askew, his hair tousled. It looked like he was covered in a layer of dirt. He almost looked like he didn't know what to say when he saw Finn and Jav's conditions.

He made an attempt to clear his throat again and said, "The war games are over."

Hazel looked back at Aria and Finn. "I think you guys got the Mural Crown."

"Yeah, but who _won_?" Eddie asked.

Jav looked at her with the utmost apathetic look, which was made worse with how bloody his face was. "Did you take the banners?" No, Eddie realized, she had not. "Did Finn take them?" No, he was too busy bashing his face in. "What about Aria or Issac?" No, they were captured before they had the chance to.

Eddie shook her head.

He gave a theatric gesture that said _There you go_.

"The banners weren't captured," Frank said. "Therefore the games weren't technically _won_. The offending team managed to get over the fortress's walls, which earned you guys the Mural Crown, but the defending team managed to defend the banners accordingly."

"It's a win-win," Hazel said. She sheathed her longsword and walked over to Frank. "We won the games. You guys won the crown."

Aria exhaled a heavy sigh, like she was finally relieved. "Oh, thank the gods. We _finally_ got it."

"About time," Issac grumbled.

All six cohorts formed their individual ranks outside of the was an uproar of cheering from the First, Fourth, and Fifth cohorts as they celebrated the overall victory of the war games. The Second, Third, and Sixth, however with the loss of the games, spent their victory on the Mural Crown.

Heads were being noogied. Backs were being pat. Swords were being sheathed. Shields were being dropped. Helmets were being removed. Breastplates were being unbuckled.

Eddie suddenly became of aware of someone behind her. It was the same feeling she had when she'd noticed RC sitting beside her in the counselor's office way back when. That unconscious pull that tickled the back of the mind: _There is something behind me, something physical and it is watching me_.

Eddie turned around just as Polanski had his hand raised. He was more than likely going to clamp a hand down on her shoulder; his way of an anonymous greeting.

"Eddie!" he yelled; had to yell. There was too much chatter to not yell.

Eddie raised her voice against the celebration. "Hey! How was it?"

Polanski gave a passive shrug. "I got stuck with the elephant. Did you see that, by the way?"

Eddie tried to remember was she was supposed to have seen. And then the second elephant that barreled out of the fortress came into mind, attacking Hannibal.

"Yeah, I saw," she said. "I thought there was only one elephant."

"Me, too." Polanski glanced over Eddie's head. "It couldn't have fit in there, right? Wasn't small enough."

Eddie agreed. "The ceiling wasn't tall enough for an elephant that big. It would've broken through."

"Aren't they claustrophobic, too?"

"Fuck if I know."

"The game is won!" The voice belonged to Reyna, which came from up above. "We will assemble for honors!"

Eddie looked up. She did not immediately see anything. Perhaps she did, but didn't want to acknowledge it, because once her eyes picked out what it was, it was impossible to imagine how she hadn't seen it at once.

Eddie had been absolutely dead set against shock.

But she was shocked.

She demanded, "Is that — is that a flying horse?"

There was a creature, much like a horse; exactly like a horse, with thick, feathered wings that expanded outwards. The color of it was something between an earthy yellow and a raw umber. It wore armor, with segmented plates that protected the neck, some kind of chest-plate, and plates of metal that protected its hind quarters. Eddie's mind was bending.

Polanski's voice was flat. "I think it's a pegasus."

"I don't doubt it."

"You're bleeding."

"Oh, yeah."

Eddie had forgotten that little tussle she'd endured with Wolf-Man. But now she was beginning to remember. Pain made every possible response meaner than it would have been otherwise. Eddie suddenly became very aware that she _was_ bleeding, right in the spot where her shoulder bent a little inwards and right below where her collarbone met with her shoulder's joint.

A clean sliced marred her skin, cutting right through the collar of her hoodie. It was bleeding like nobody's business, but it didn't hurt badly unless Eddie moved it. The blade of the Wolf-Man's sword must have been very sharp.

" _Oh, yeah_ ," Polanski said none too kindly. It was mocking, but it wasn't hurtful. "You just keep getting banged up." He turned himself in a way that said he was looking for someone.

"I'm fine," Eddie said, but that wasn't enough to persuade Polanski.

After a moment, Ivy Lee was spotted. Polanski waved her over.

"You guys didn't die," she said to them upon her arrival. "Congratulations."

Eddie gave a bone-dry, "Thanks," as Polanski said, "This is going to sound crazy, but do you have anything to heal cuts?"

Ivy looked at him with a curious eye. "I do." And then she was rummaging in her pockets for something. What she pulled out wasn't what Eddie thought could even be close to mending her wound.

It was this square-cut brownie that wasn't the color brownies were supposed to be. It wasn't brown, but a dark yellow.

Eddie hoped it was _bhang_.

Ivy broke off a corner, nothing bigger than the Eddie's own pinky nail, and handed it to her.

"That should be enough," she told her. "Too much and it could burn you up."

Eddie took the offered crumb and Polanski laughed.

Ivy was being literal.

Polanski stopped laughing and Eddie ate the crumb.

"What is it?" he asked Ivy.

"Ambrosia," she said. "It works fast. Unicorn horn shavings work faster, but I don't have any on me."

Eddie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Ambrosia. Unicorn horn shavings. Pegasi. It was like she was in some sort of dream that never ended. But at least the aching had died down and, when Eddie looked down, the bleeding had stopped spreading. The only thing there was to concern was the giant blood stain that had bled through the T-shirt and smaller giant stain that had bled through the hoodie.

Horns blew again. Campers started grouping up by cohort.

Ivy said, "Come on," and Eddie and Polanski had no choice but to follow her.

Assembling for honors, as Reyna called it, felt similar to a high school rally. The cohorts were the classes by grades. The praetors were the principle and vice-principle. The _honors_ were the winnings, and in this case, they were metal badges.

Because the First, Fourth, and Fifth cohorts won the war games, all centurions from those cohorts were given these golden neck rings that looked like they were woven together with wired strands.

The Mural Crown was a different matter.

Because Aria, specifically had climbed over the fortress's wall first, she was specifically awarded a golden badge, which was attached to the front of her shirt. She stood taller, her posture a little straighter, and thanked the mousey girl from earlier who'd given it to her.

Eddie wanted the ceremony to be over.

She shuffled on her feet, pressing her heels into the rutted grass beneath her feet. The cohorts were set up in a way where the Sixth faced the First, the Fifth faced the Second, and the Fourth faced the Third. Eddie saw Blake with a golden ring around her neck, looking at as if she'd just won the entirety of the war games herself. But once their eyes met, that vainglory diminished and was replaced with a questionable look in her eyes.

Eddie didn't know what had happened, so she didn't know how to answer that unknown question.

She looked away.

Polanski, who stood beside her, whispered to her whether or not she was doing okay.

He meant the sword wound.

Eddie thought he meant something else entirely: her sanity.

She gave him a half-lie and whispered back to him, "I'm okay."

Polanski took the answer and fell back in line.

It wasn't long before the award ceremony was over. The atmosphere was fresh and rejuvenating, like all a cosmic weight had been lifted off the entirety of the camp. Maybe it was because it was the end of the war games; the celebrations called for jubilation.

Eddie escaped with Polanski back to the barracks with the rest of the Sixth Cohort. They went through their nightly routine, taking turns showering the game's grit and sweat away and dressing in reasonably comfortable pajamas.

Polanski turned the lights out as soon as Eddie peeled the socks from her feet and threw them down on the ground below her.

As soon as Eddie closed her eyes, she jerked awake at the sound of a car door closing.

She was in a terribly small car and, for a moment, began to hyperventilate. It wasn't because of the space, but rather the unfamiliarity. Or, rather, the processed familiarity. The musty vanilla scent reminded Eddie of her mother, back when she still lived with her.

An older woman, well past her fifties, settled herself in the passenger seat. Her hair was a dark chestnut color, the roots growing gray, styled in a disheveled bob. Her skin was roughly tanned, mottled with blotchy freckles and moles. She held a velvet drawstring pouch in her lap.

Eddie squinted against the colorless new dawn — was it supposed to be daytime? — her eyes pinched with exhaustion. It felt like only a couple of seconds had passed since she'd closed her eyes to sleep.

She couldn't understand if this woman was really there or not. She must be; the scent of moss and vanilla wafted furiously within the enclosed vehicle.

The woman handed Eddie the pouch. "Take out the cards," she said in a rough orotund voice.

"What?"

"Stop stalling," the woman said, her manner austere. "It's time for a lesson."

Mother.

 _Mother_.

"Mom?"

Eddie's fatigued brain slid out from under her; something about all of this struck her as not entirely _true_.

The thin morning light illuminated Mother's secret smile. "I was hoping you would be too tired to think."

As she reached for the cards her mother still held out for her to take, it struck Eddie. "You're not here."

Mother nodded in agreement.

"This is a commemoration," she said.

Mother nodded again.

Now it made sense. Eddie was wandering in a recollection of one of her early lessons with her mother from when she was younger, more naïve, when her mother was at the peak of her divination-giving occupation back in Felton. The goals of these sessions were always the same: escape her conscious mind; discover her unconscious; expand that to the collective unconscious; look for the threads that connected all things; rinse and repeat.

In the beginning, Eddie had been twelve years old, and had never gotten past the first two. Every session had been spent trying to lure herself out of her own concrete thoughts.

Eddie's fingers molested the fringed edges of the pouch, running the pads of her fingers over the frayed material.

"Why are you here?" she asked. "Is this a dream? It's got to be…"

And just like that, she was alone in the car.

And then the car became a forest.

The pouch that held her mother's tarot cards were gone, and in their place Eddie held a single tarot card. The art on the card was no doubt elegant in the way that spiritual artwork was supposed to be elegant. It depicted a candle knocked over on its side with a majority of the picture being enveloped in flames. The flames looked like it could have made out an image of a figure.

It was unimportant.

What was she looking for?

It was difficult to navigate the space between conscious and unconscious.

Eddie let her mind wander slightly closer to her present.

Polanski's snoring bled into her awareness, reminding her that her body was actually in their bedroom within the barracks of Camp Jupiter. In this other place, the leaves rustled out useless sayings. The forest Eddie stood in called for things that she simply did not possess.

Eddie was grounded by the mattress and memory of the walls' closeness.

The devil — no.

A demon.

' _West_ ,' it, she, he said.

The card Eddie held began to smolder, until the top right corner of it spontaneously combusted into small flames.

' _West_ ,' it, she, he said.

The card burned up in her hand.

A voice whispered of taking apart, of disowning, of violence, of nothingness. It was a voice Eddie recognized and did not recognize at the same time. It was alluring; it was revolting.

Demon, demon, demon.

' _Go, go, go._ '

' _Do not seek further_.'

In this dream-place, time was irrelevant and it was the same. It was a line; it was a circle.

Images were thrown at Eddie: a faceless woman, a coin bent into the shape of an L, inverted torches.

' _Hekate-Hekate-Hekate!_

 _Queen of Witches, Mother of Bones —_

 _come to us_

 _— your Children of the Night and Sorcery!_

 _Hekate-Hekate-Hekate!_ '

The silence that followed was the kind that was not welcoming. It was the abrupt cut of sound, of noise, and the damned buzz that followed. This silence was the fright of the absence of sound, of noise.

Eddie realized all at once that something was _inside_.

She could feel that something watching her.

She had been _seen_.

She blinked. Everything was dark at first, and then she blinked again, and it resolved into the surrounding night of the room she slept in.

The room was silent. Polanski had stopped snoring.

"Eddie…"

Her heart felt as though it had skipped a beat into a painful pause.

"Yeah?"

Material rustled below.

In the same voice that had whispered in her ear this time, Polanski said, " _This is the throne of Mammon_."

"Polanski —"

" _Once we're fed we shall disappear rapidly_

 _Many moons to the west of here and happily_

 _Our journey never ends_."

Eddie opened her eyes.

It was still dark.

Polanski was snoring.

Her heart raced, beating against her chest. But her body was paralyzed; Eddie couldn't move. Not at first. She was laying on her back despite having gone to bed on her side, staring up at the ceiling. She could feel the dull throb in the tips of her fingers, of her toes.

Eddie did not count; it could have been seconds, minutes, hours. Finally, she could relax herself enough to lift a hand, an arm. She tucked her beneath the pillow her head rested on, a small comfort habit, and her fingers met something sleek and thin. When she pulled it out, it was a six-by-eleven card that depicted five figures beating each other with large sticks. At the bottom, it read Five of Wands. The upper right corner of the card was singed, like it had been burned and then immediately put out.

Eddie didn't know what this meant, but she tucked the card back under her pillow and forced herself to not think, to let everything go for a moment.

Polanski continued to snore and Eddie tried, again, to sleep.


End file.
